











Class T 

Book 1 ^ 

2 

Gof^right 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 












JONAS BRAND 


OR 


Living Within the Law 




BY 


JANE VALENTINE 

Author of “The Old Stone House,” “Time's 
Scythe,” etc. 

(SECOND EDITION) 


**For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither 
anything hid, that shall not be known, and come abroad.*’ 

—Luke vii. 17. 


THE 


Hbbey Press 


Condon 


PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

NEW YORK 


n^ontrcal 






\ 




THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two C0HE8 Received 

MAY. 21 1901 

Copyright entry 
CLASS <^XXc. N». 
COPY B. 


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Copyright, 1901, 
by 
THE 

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To 

My Dear Friend, 

MRS. INEZ ANDREW CLARK, 

Who Was 

Gentle and Untiring 
In My 

LONG Convalescence, 

I Humbly Dedicate 
This Story born of Truth. 

“Whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness, 
shall be heard in the light; and that which 
ye have spoken in the ear in closets, shall 
be proclaimed upon the house-tops.” 

— Luke, xii, 3. 


(iv.) 


























PREFACE. 


All the incidents of the heroine’s incarceration in St. Ursula’s 
Institution, and what she saw and heard, and the happenings 
there, related in this story, although under the guise of fiction, 
were the actual experiences of the author. The four woman 
characters, aside from the heroine, — Hannah Cameron, Mrs. Mil- 
ford, Mrs. Linton, and the lovely Mrs. Geraldus, although these 
names are fictitious, (their real names not being given,)— were for 
nearly a year the constant companions of the writer. They were 
locked up for life. Their stories, as told by themselves, are true, 
although much of the worst details are withheld, especially in the 
sad case of Hannah Cameron. The reason for this is that there 
are those who are dear to the author, and not for the world would 
she give them pain. Nor has she any object in writing this nar- 
rative other than for truth’s sake, and that it might open the eyes of 
some of the Catholic people to the reformation so sadly needed in 
their institutions, and that they will pull the bandage from their 
eyes, and come out into the light of freedom and truth, and demand 
to see and to know. No heart could be more pained, or suffered 
more than the author at these terrible revelations. 

Oh, why, why, will people love darkness rather than light? 



CONTENTS. 

Chapter. Page 

I. A SUMMER DREAM I 

II. SO THEY PARTED 13 

III. AS HOWARD STANHOPE’S WIFE. ... 22 

IV. ST. Ursula’s 25 

V. HANNAH Cameron 35 

VI. Conscience Doth Make Cowards of Us all. 46 

VII. “A Little Lady I knew.” . . . .63 

VIII. How COULD She Hope for Mercy? . . 79 

IX. MRS. Geraldus 97 

X. Dove wing. 108 

XI. SAID A voice Whose tones floated Back 

Over the Years 116 

XII. FEELING His PULSE 127 

XIII. The Tears Glistened on her Fair Lashes. 142 

XIV. HOW Beautiful She Was! . . . .161 

XV. IT IS A Shame Crying to heaven, to God. 170 

XVI. THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. . . l8o 

XVII. An Inner Life of Our Own. . . .196 

XVIII. for Teddy’s Sake 210 

XIX. BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. . . .224 

XX. AT LAST! AT LAST! OH, MY LOVE! . . .236 

XXI. THE VISION OF ROSES 240 

XXII. THE New Dove wing 250 

(vli.) 



















JONAS BRAND ; 

OR, 

LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

CHAPTER I. 

A SUMMER DREAM. 

IT WAS a midsummer eve, in a far western village, 
situated high up in the Ozark hills, and noted for the 
healing quality of its springs. The shadows were slow- 
ly creeping up from the valleys, crowding out the soft 
July twilight, while the gold of the setting sun tinged 
to bronze the tall pine tops. The sweet perfumed winds 
made iColian harps of their branches, filling the air with 
low weird melodies. As the dusk deepened, 6ne by 
one, lamps were lighted in cottage and villa and the 
great hotels, until the whole place was brilliant with 
gleaming lights. 

In an upper room in the south wing of the Crescent 
House, that stood upon one of the loftiest hills, looking 
like some old stone castle of piediasval days, were two 
young men, having a social after-dinner ttte-i.-Ute. One 
of them lounged in the cushions of an easy chair. He 
was of medium height, his dress fashionable and ele- 
gant. There was a certain grace of bearing, a polish 
of manner, that told him to be a man of leisure, and of 
the world ; while something of the bon-vivant shone in 
his snapping black eyes, his xuddy. dark skirt, and con* 
i 


2 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

vivial mouth. The other stood with his left arm resting 
on the mantel-piece. His head sat well-poised on a pair 
of handsome shoulders, and a frame that was tall, slen- 
der, sinuous and strong. A heavy shock of chestnut 
brown hair swept away on both sides of a broad, fair 
brow, whose characteristic marks were ideality. The 
eyes were large and of a dark gray-blue, and were as 
changeable as the sky of an April day ; sometimes soft, 
dreamy and limpid ; at other times, when his judgment 
or critical faculties were brought into play, they were 
clear cold like steel ; then again, when in earnest com- 
bat, they would flash out with the heat and quickness 
of lightning. His nose was fashioned something like 
what we see in the portraits of Vandyke, the nostril 
thin and sensitive. The heavy curling mustache lent a 
charm to the profile, and the cheek that curved roundly 
in to the full beautiful chin, and helped to conceal a 
mouth of much firmness ; but there was also tenderness 
in the clear-cut but flexible lips. Richard Alden was in 
his twenty -fifth year. He had as yet settled down to no 
particular vocation. He had all the elements of the art- 
ist ; his mind and soul were imbued with a love of the 
beautiful, in whatever aspect he found it. While at col- 
lege he had availed himself of the opportunity to become 
a fine mechanical draughtsman. He had studied machin- 
ery and engineering ; and, at leisure intervals, had paint- 
ed some in oils and wate rcolors. After leaving college, for 
a while he gave his attention to scientific problems. He 
had dabbled a little in this and a little in that, when 
General Evans, President of the M. P. Road, the great 


A SUMMER DREAM. 


3 


railroad king, gave him a pressing invitation to accom- 
pany him, with a party of surveyors, who were going 
West to survey the ground for a new branch road which 
was to cut through the range of the Ozark Mountains, 
to the very foot of -the. springs. Richard thought what 
a splendid chance it would afford him for study, and a 
summer out-door sketching, which he had long prom- 
ised himself, before that one dream of his life could be 
realized — of spending some years in the art schools of 
Europe. 

“What a lovely country!” he said, placing the lighted 
cigar he had held in his right hand between his lips, and 
stepping to a window that looked over the valley, to the 
great hills studded with giant pines, hemming it in on all 
sides. “Is it any wonder. Jack, that, living in cities, 
we grow stoop-shouldered, and our hearts become as 
hard and callous as their paved streets and brick walls f 
Here we have nature in all its free wild grandeur; here 
we have breathing room — room for body and soul to 
expand. Ah! Jack, my t)oy, if men lived uprightly, 
there is no reason why they should not be counted as 
the sons of God. Look at the Indians. Why, savage 
though they are, see what physiques they have — ” 

“My dear Dick,” said Jack Hilder, interrupting his 
friend, “ I have no fondness for the savages. I like it 
up here for a while, but the city suits me., You can go 
in and sketch to your heart’s content ; I mean to have 
a good time.” And Jack Hilder arose, and shook the 
ashes from the end of his cigar. “ I want t6 go to the 
ball to-night, my dear fellow. Of course, you are going } 


4 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

It is the opening ball of the season, and will be quite an 

affair. Lots of the best people from St. L and 

L ville; a sprinkling of high-bred northern grand- 

dames; and every Southern State is represented this year 
by some new beauty,- and their mothers, grandmothers, 
and all the old dowager chaperones, and some of the 
young male members of the family, while papa stays at 
home, in his counting-house, or to watch the coming crops 
on his plantation. You see, Dick, some one has to foot 
the bills.’’ And Jack Hilder chuckled to himself as he 
took short, quick strides up and down the floor. Then 
he stopped still as the strains of a bass viol were wafted 
to his ear. ‘‘ Come, Dick, let us go down ; it is nearly 
half past nine,” he said, looking at his watch. 

^‘My dear Hilder, I am at your service, able to stand 
any amount of shot and shell from bright eyes. I am 
adamant to all woman’s wiles, at least for ten years to 
come. So your beauties may troop down on me. I 
think I can stand all the designing mothers, grandmoth- 
ers and dowager duchesses, from the Ozarks to the 
Yosemite.” 

Richard Alden smiled, ran his hand through his hair, 
took a turn or two before the mirror, and followed his 
friend, who had gone on before him. 

‘‘Hilder, you are up in all the ways, doings and gos- 
sip of the social world — who is that tall beauty, dancing 
with Armstrong? 1 never expected to see a woman of 
that type away up here in the Ozark Hills. I have 
dreamed of meeting her across the seas, in some London 
drawing-room, or Paris salon, or in the halls of Art. amid 


A SUMMER DREAM. 


s 

the sculptured gods and goddesses. Perhaps she is the 
spirit of some fair Diana, returned to earth, or a Psyche, 
clad in stuffs as soft as her own fair flesh. See, she 
turns her face this way. By George ! she is lovely!’’ 

They were standing near an open window, in the 
ball room, watching the dancers. Jack Hilder chuckled 
to himself, pulled at the corner of his short, frowsy mus- 
tache, and turned his small black eyes, that sparkled 
like beads, away from Eleanor Montcalm, and pretended 
to look in another direction of the room. 

Eleanor Montcalm stood where the light fell full upon 
her. She was then in her twentieth year, and clad in 
a soft India silk, brought some years before from India 
by an uncle of her mother’s. It was a pale canary color, 
and hung in clinging, shimmering folds about her stat- 
uesque but pliant figure. Some rare and costly old lace, 
yellow with age, swathed her hips, neck and arms; a 
bunch of pink chrysanthemums, nestling in the filmy 
meshes on her bosom, gave a faint tinge to the marble 
whiteness of her skin. A golden fillet clasped the black 
shining tresses on her brow, and bound them in a low 
knot at the back of her neck. 

‘‘Do you mean Miss Lucien, that pretty petite blonde 
that is dancing with Phil Gray 1 She is a splendid 
catch, Dick, worth three hundred thousand in her own 
right, besides what the Governor will give her. Old 
Lucien is worth a cool million if he is worth a cent ; and, 
of course, is expected to come down handsomely, when- 
ever the desired husband is found, and the day set. 
Ahem! yes ” 


6 JONAS BRAND ;'OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

And Jack HirdeTTtbokJHolB of tHe'Tapels of his 'coat, 
lifted his shoulders'until its Collar grazed the hair on 
the, back of his heck, then gave them a peculiar twist, 
and his coat fell back to.its place and hung on him with* 
out a wrinkle, 

“Jack, I thought you a man of taste, aconnoiseur of 
women^on the lookout for every new beauty that makes 
her debut on the social boards, and can guage their fine 
points with as much sagacity as you would that of a 
blooded horse or dog,” said Richard, laughing pleasantly 
at his friend. Yet his_words had a touch of safcasm in 
their tone.’ 

“Dick, old boy, I see you are badly hit. Your boasted 
adamant all melted away under, the glance of a pair of 
lavely dark eyes. But be sensible. You and she 
would make a handsome team, I own ; but love in a 
cottage, old fellow, don’t go down well in our day. It 
offers too many opportunities for a man of intellect like 
yourself, and,— ahem ! yes, your humble servant here 
is not wanting in a little, — ahem! yes. While 1 am 
not a purveyor of news, nor a society encyclopedia, 
nor a Beau Brummel, I can — being as it’s you, Dick, 
my old friend and college chum — tell you something 
about her. I knew from the first whom you referred 
to. She is from your own city. See what you lose, 
Dick, by not being posted in the social calendar — how 
awkward it makes a fellow. She is the tair and stately 
Eleanor Montcalm. SHe is here with her grandmother, 
who is an invalid, and one of the creme de la, creme , — a 
duchess dowager of the old school, related to all the) 


A SUMMER DREAM. 7 

names in the blue book; perhaps a forty-second cousin 
to the Marquis de Montcalm of colonial fame. They are 
poor; the old lady has a small income for life, but she 
hands it over with the rest of her checks, when she 
knocks for admittance on the door of the social world 
beyond. Ahem! yes. I hope she will find her name 
down in the blue book up there. But she knows just 
the price to set on such a beauty as Eleanor. She knows 
that good family, youth, and loveliness, like her grand- 
daughter’s, won’t go begging for a rich husband. Too 
many men with plethoric pockets, in this country, 
whose early advantages were not so good as yours and 
mine, Dick, like General Evans here. President of the 
M. P. Road, — he is a bachelor. Such men know the 
value of a fine establshment, horses, carriages, livery, 
and diamonds. They are willing to lay this crown ana 
sceptre at the feet of youth, beauty, and blue blood. 
They will purchase it at any cost. It won’t do, old 
boy — no, sir. Dick, be sensible, my dear fellow, be 
sensible. You must marry money; so must the fair 
Eleanor.” 

Jack Hilder wiped his chin with a fine cambric hand- 
kerchief, raised his shoulders again until the collar of 
his coat touched the lobes of his ears, then he took hold 
of its lapels, and with another slight shrug and a pecu- 
liar shake, it fell back to its place, his mouth stretching 
all the while with a silent chuckle. 

‘‘No woman, with a face like Miss Montcalm’s, is 
likely to sell herself simply for money; the jewel is too 
fine for a poor setting. Yet she has her ideal, and will 


8 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

make a hard fight with fate to attain it. There is soul 
and intellect there, as well as beauty,’' replied Richard, 
keeping his eyes bent on Eleanor, as she glided here 
and there through the maze of the dance. 

‘‘It will never do, Dick, my dear fellow, for you and 
her to pair — too much waste of the physical and intel- 
lectual; and, as they are a scarce commodity, better 
divide them up. Better turn your attention to Miss 
Huntington there, — she’s plain, but a nice girl; her father 
is one of the largest real estate owners in the West.” 

“Why the deuce. Jack, don’t you take some of those 
chances yourself?” cried Dick, somewhat nettled at 
what he took to be mercenary and downright cold-blood- 
ed selfishness in his friend Jack Hilder. 

“I am such a homely devil. The ladies like me 
simply for my good nature; the men, for my love of 
sport, and those small and early dinners that Thack- 
eray speaks of, which 1 give at my lodgings, — only mine 
generally hold forth until the wee small hours of the 
morning. 1 am what you call a social handy man. 
No dinner, reception or theatre party of any note, but 
what Jack Hilder must be there. I am supposed to 
know everybody who is anybody. I am on the go 
from the first of June, when the fishing begins, until 
the end of October; then in society until the first of 
March. Yes, my dear Dick, 1 have started wrong. 
My social proclivities ruined me for a useful member of 
the same. Ahem ! yes, old boy. If I succeed in adding 
to my income, I will have to be content with some wid- 
ow, who wants a husband to take care of her money. 


A SUMMER DREAM. 


9 

! am just the man to do it. I am a perfect master of 
those little nothings, that go to please a woman. I won’t 
mind a few years’ difference in our ages, so that she 
has a long purse.” 

Hilder gave a silent chuckle, and his small eyes 
sparkled and danced, and almost leaped out of his head, 
at the very fun of the thing. 

‘‘No, Dick, old fellow,” he went on, pulling the ends 
of his stubby mustache, “if you will just go in and 
devote yourself to society a little, you would be sure 
to win with the ladies. I like you immensely, and 
want you to have those four years abroad. I know 
your aim is Art, but money will help you all the more 
to attain it Ahem! yes.” 

“I suppose you speak the sentiment of your times. 
But man cannot live by bread alone, neither can he 
serve two masters. There is no half way, my dear 
Hilder. Money is the curse of the art and literature 
of our day. You cannot look at a painting, without its 
telling you in so many words, ‘I was painted to sell ; 
my maker had no higher aim than to make me an arti- 
cle of commerce; that is why I am soulless.’ Millet, 
when he painted the ‘Angelus,’ did not think of the 
dollars that it would bring to himself, or its owner, in 
after years. He loved his work; he loved his home and 
the land of his birth, where his ancestors lived and 
died. He loved his peasant neighbors, the fields, the 
blue skies, the sunsets at evening, and the soft, 
fragrant winds that carried the sound of the village 
church bell to the workers in the field and meadow. 


10 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

whispering to them the hour of rest and prayer. It is 
the same with most of our new books. In perusing 
their pages, you feel your throat growing dry, and you 
search in vain for some refreshing spring of thought, 
in their sandy desert of words, — words often dexterous- 
ly and artistically handled, I own, but such a multi- 
plicity of words ! Most of our literature is affected 
with the dry rot, and in thirty years hence will be 
fit only for the ash barrel. 1 believe with Carlyle 
when he wrote to Emerson, whose mind at the time 
was filled with transcendentalism, *\ like a man of 
flesh and blood, with a coat on his back, and some 
color in his cheeks, a soul in his body, and imbued 
with a good deal of healthy, honest passion.’ The 
politician, statesman and scientist may make money 
an object, but art and literature come under the spirit- 
ual, poetic, and religious; and things spiritual always 
demand self-sacrifice. If I go abroad, I must go through 
my own exertion. Father has already done enough for 
me. — Hilder, leave this idle life and its nonsense,” said 
Dick, pausing, and laying his hand on Jack’s shoulder, 
and looking down at him with affection, ‘‘and devote 
yourself to some useful pursuit, even if its sole object 
would be to make money; then it will be yours, and 
you can do some good with it.” 

“Dick,” said Jack, returning his companion’s look 
of affection, “you always were a law unto yourself; 
but when once a fellow gets into the swim, it is hard 
to break away. Come, the quadrille is finished; let us 
find Mrs. Major Denis, — she will present you to the fair 
Eleanor.” 


A SUMMER DREAM. 


II 


Half an hour later, Richard Alden and Eleanor Mont- 
calm were dancing together; their eyes had met, and 
heart went out to heart, and soul to soul. For the rest 
of the evening he never left her side, and when they 
parted, Eleanor to go home with the two Misses Ray 
and Mrs. Major Denis, the chaperone of the party, and 
he to return to his hotel. He went to his room, lighted 
a cigar, and threw himself into a chair. 

‘‘Her manner and conversation were delightful,’’ he 
thought, “and the play of her features, illumined by 
those glorious dark eyes, gave soul to her physical 
perfections.” 

There are women who inspire men with a great pas- 
sion, but it is frequently a passion of the lower and 
baser senses, and they hold them by those until they 
consume and kill every noble sentiment, every desire 
to work and achieve an honorable place in the world ; 
but Eleanor had awakened in Richard all the finer, loft- 
ier and purer elements of his nature, and touched his 
smouldering genius, to flame up and burn within him, 
until he longed for the summer to pass, so that he might 
go home and settle down to some earnest pursuit. 
Eleanor was brave, he thought; she would be willing to 
wait a few years for him. She was his first romance, 
his first love, and he had never felt the desire so strong 
upon him to be something that would set him apart from 
his fellow men, as he did upon this night. 

He had done little or nothing since he left college. 
His associates there had all been sons of wealthy men, 
and he was a great favorite with them on account of his 


12 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW, 

many talents, and his strong chivalrous character. He 
had allowed himself to drift into their frivolities, not 
their excesses, thinking every day that he would cut 
loose from them. His father, while not a rich man, had 
been very generous with him. If he would tell him 
that the desire of his heart was to go abroad a few years 
to study art, he was sure he would furnish him with the 
money. So he sat thinking far into the night, making 
plans for the future, dreaming of riches and fame, as he 
puffed clouds of smoke from his cigar, and saw in every 
sinuous curl the beautiful face of the woman who had 
so charmed him. 

Eleanor, as she lay awake that same night, thought 
to herself, ‘'How came he here? I could not believe my 
eyes, when he stood before me, tall and straight as the 
pines that grow on the side of Sunrise Peak. He made 
me think of some young god, an Apollo dwelling among 
the mountains, — Actaeon taken from his native hills 
when a boy and sent to college, — for his manners are 
perfect. And when those clear, steadfast eyes of his 
looked straight into mine, they were like an arrow 
piercing my breast. I felt as if I should fall. 1 hope he 
did not observe my trembling. I think our liking mu- 
tual, — it is more than liking, but I dare not, — Oh, no, 
I dare not call it by any other name. I began to despair 
of ever meeting with a man who would even inspire me 
with respect. I had nothingbut contempt for the young 
men with whom 1 came in contact daily. Their flippan- 
cy, cynicism, unbelief, and utter lack of earnestness is 
deplorable. But Richard Alden is my ideal, my dream. 
Hilder calls him Dick; he is my splendid Dick.'' 


so THEY PARTED. 


13 


CH AFTER JI. 

SO THEY PARTED. 

So THE summer passed. The surveyors gave fishing 
and sketching parties. General Evans’ admiration for 
Eleanor Vould, had he indulged it, have 'grown to a 
stronger passion. But he was too sensible a man not to 
know that the disparity in their years would be a draw- 
back to their happiness. Besides, he'was^ot long in 
discovering where her preference lay. He had lived 
alone all his life, but he was very fond of society, and 
loved young people. Richard was much of a favorite 
with him, and the great Railroad President was. ever 
ready to lend his aid and his purse to make every enter- 
tainment his party gave a success. Hespared no expense 
and footed the bills. 

Old Mrs. Montcalm became exceedingly nervous when 
she was first presented to Richard Alden. She said one 
day to Eleanor, a few weeks after the introduction, 
“My child, this young Alden is all one could desire, so 
far as personal appearance, breeding, education and 
family are concerned; and, with his rare qualities of 
mind and heart, it makes of him a woman’s ideal. But 
what a pity he has not a fortune to back him. My child, 
I hope for your sake, as well as mine, you will not think 
of this young Alden as a husband.’’ 

Mrs. Montcalm was in her seventieth year. She had 
vbeen a great beauty in_he^r day, and there was still m uch 


14 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

of the grand dame about her. Her husband had been a 
wealthy merchant, and was supposed to have been a 
distant cousin of the Marquis of Montcalm. At the time 
of his death, he left quite a fortune to his widow; but, 
as is often the case with money, in her long widowhood 
it had taken wings and flown. In her later years, she 
had tasted of what to her was considered poverty, but 
to those who are not so fortunate as to possess at any 
time in their lives more than supplies their simple daily 
wants, her modest income would be considered riches. 
She had never deceived her granddaughter in regard to 
her means. She frequently impressed it upon her that 
her income ceased at her death, and that she had noth- 
ing to leave her but her jewels, with which she had 
never parted, and four large trunks, filled with rare old 
Jaces, soft India silks, and rich brocades, India and China 
crepes and old embroideries, brought from different 
climes by her husband. These were a bonanza to 
Eleanor since her dibut in society, and were the envy 
of her wealthier sisters, when she appeared at balls or 
receptions in gowns that were dreams of loveliness, 
fashioned out of them by her deft fingers. The one 
desire of Mrs. Montcalm ^s heart was to see her grand- 
daughter well settled in life, before she answered the 
final call of her Maker, before she fell asleep for the last 
time, to awake in eternity. 

‘‘My daughter, to those who have been educated be- 
yond it, to those who are used to culture and refinement, 
and the luxuries of life, there is no more bitter pill to 
swallow than poverty. 1 hope, dear child, you will be 


so THEY PARTED. 1 5 

careful, and not encourage to any extent the attentions 
of this young Alden.’’ 

Eleanor, who was more given to reflection than to talk, 
bent her head and covered her face with her hands. 
After a moment, she raised it again, all smiles to Mrs. 
Montcalm. 

‘‘Dear grandma,’^ she said, “1 have no dread of pov- 
erty. It is not the worst thing in life to bear. As for 
myself, I could live above and beyond it; very little of 
this world’s goods suffice to make me happy. As Richard 
Alden’s wife, I would have no fear of the wolf ever 
coming to the door. I feel that, with his intellect and 
talent, he will some day make his mark in the world, 
and leave it better for having lived. Rest your mind, 
dear grandmother, Richard Alden has never breathed 
love to me. I would be presuming to think he ever 
dreamed of making me his wife.” 

She arose, tossed her head, and gave a merry laugh; 
patted her grandmother on the cheek, and bent over 
and kissed her; then picked up her embroidery and sat 
down by the window. 

But her mind was too much occupied with other 
thoughts that lay nearer her heart to work. Every little 
while she would let the screen on which she was tracing 
the moss rose leaves fall listlessly from her hands on 
her lap. The evening before, she and Richard had sat 
on the ledge of Castle Hill, watching the glories of the 
scene around them. To the north, the stars came out 
one by one, and jewelled the violet sky; in the south- 
west, ambers, russets, crimsons and purples faintly 


lO JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

streaked the horizon. Before them in the east, a full 
moon was slyly glancing over the summit of a large 
black cloud, that hung over Sunrise Peak, throwing its 
sides and the valley below into dense shadow. At the 
base of the mountain could be seen the outlines of an 
old and dilapidated frame cottage, its chimneys and 
tumbling porches giving mystery to the solitary lamp 
that burned in one of its many windows. The moon 
rose higher and lined the edges of the cloud with an 
argent radiance, and shot bright arrows down among 
the pines that sighed and soughed in the soft September 
breeze, and flung their long cool shadows across the 
valley to their feet. Eleanor reclined in the seat by 
his side. Her simple robe of white India mull swathed 
her sinuous body like a cloud stolen from the luminous 
blue above; her bare arms and throat gleaming in the 
light like polished ivory; her great eyes giving warmth 
and animation to the sculptured features. The moon- 
beams caught her raven tresses, clasped them on her 
brow, and bound them with bands of shining silver. 

Richard first gazed on the scene before him, then at 
the picture at his side. A deep craving, which only an 
artist can feel, took possession of him. He longed to 
be able to catch both pictures as he saw them, and in 
a moment dash them on canvas. What a reputation 
they would make for him! But alas! the eye saw and 
the soul felt, but the hand was powerless. (Still, my 
Richard, it is easy to train the hand, but no power on 
earth can give you the eye to see, and the soul to feel, 
if you are born lacking them.) A sigh, something like 


so THEY PARTED. 


17 

a groan escaped him, as the keen arrow of love smote 
his heart; he would then and there have thrown himself 
on her pity and sympathy, and poured out all the pent 
up passion the time, the place and she herself inspired. 
But higher and braver thoughts mastered him ; he was 
no vain, weak voluptuary, caring only to gratify the 
pleasure of the moment, regardless of what after-misery 
it might bring upon the woman he loved. So they parted 
that night, each with a new-found happiness, — a new 
and delightful passion, to be cherished in their hearts 
— a sweet and tender love, whose realization was to be 
hoped for in the years to come. Eleanor picked up her 
work; there was a flush on her cheeks, a smile on her 
lips, a light in her eyes, as she rose and left the room to 
prepare for dinner. 

Richard Alden, though just at the age when hopes are 
fullest, dreams are brightest, ambitions strongest, and 
passions hottest, was, in many things, still master of 
himself. He felt that he could not honorably speak to 
Eleanor of his love without first consulting with his father 
and giving him his plans for the future. The letters 
received from his mother, during the summer, mentioned 
casually that his father seemed not to be in his usual 
good health. 

When Richard arrived home in the fall, he found the 
old gentleman quite unwell, and in a few days after he 
took to his bed; in two weeks he died. Three days be- 
fore he passed away, he informed his son that for sev- 
eral months he had been financially embarassed; that 


2 


I8 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

his partner Colville had for many years been robbing 
him, and to avoid failure he had mortgaged their home. 
Dove Wing. ‘‘My son, I am sorry. 1 hoped to tide 
over the trouble and leave the business in a condition so 
that you could carry it on, and in time let me retire; but 
fate ordained otherwise. ’’ 

A few months after his father ^s death, Richard learned 
from his lawyer that there could be nothing saved from 
the wreck, not even Dove Wing ; that the holders of 
the mortgage wanted to foreclose and sell the place. 

“Creditors come down heavy, my young man; where 
ever there is a bite they take it. If you are once caught 
on their hooks, they pull in, my young man.’’ Judge 
Flynn winked one small eye, while his thin straight lips 
parted in a smile. “The mortgage came due a few 
months after your father’s death. But on the other 
hand, I see that Dove Wing had been deeded to your 
mother years ago, when the business firm of which your 
father was a partner was in its most prosperous condi- 
tion; and, according to the law of the State of Missouri, 
Dove Wing cannot be sold for a year after the date of 
your father’s death.” 

Judge Flynn set his straight lips together hard and 
dry, and took a slow, long side-glance at Richard’s face 
as he left the room. Judge Flynn, like most men of his 
profession, had little or no sentiment in his nature, nor 
did he care one jot for the widow or her home ; but he 
was a student of character, as well as law, and he had 
the same keen relish for the study of a client as he had 
for the intricacy of their case, and be it said of him, he 


so THEY PARTED. I9 

v,'as a rare exception to the rule — he was both an hon- 
est and just Judge. 

Richard’s mother was stricken with grief at the loss 
of her kind, loving husband and companion of many 
years, but she bowed her head in submission when her 
son related what Judge Flynn had told him concerning 
the condition of his father’s business. She dried her 
tears, rose up and placed her thin, white hand in his, 
and wept again on his breast. This sweet, silent ap 
peal was the turning point in Richard’s life. He made 
up his mind that Dove Wing should never be sold, 
so long as his mother lived. To turn his mother, his 
sweet-faced, gentle mother, the guide and counsellor 
of his childhood and youth out of her home where she 
had spent nearly half her life in retired cotnfort and hap- 
piness, could not be thought of as long as he had hands 
and a brain to work. He must now put forth all his 
energy and his gifts and find something to do that would 
bring ready money to support her ana himself, and pay 
off the debt on Dove Wing. 

ft was evening, and he sat alone in his room with 
his head bent low in his hands. He had simply played 
at things since he left college; now he must put aside 
the one dream of his life — he must bid farewell to Art 
and Eleanor. A pang like a dagger shot through his 
heart, and he trembled as his lips murmured her name 
and her form rose before him. She was his first ro- 
mance, his first love; she was the only woman he had 
met since grown to manhood who ever touched his heart. 


20 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

To deep earnest natures like Richard Alden’s love does 
not come with the tender glance of a pair of bright eyes 
or an evening spent with the arch coquetries and sweet 
smiles of a young and pretty face, to be lightly thrown 
aside in a few months, when a more pleasing or fairer 
one presents itself. He loved beauty, and had a sincere 
and reverent respect for woman, and was a keen ob- 
server of all the graces and virtues which should be hers. 
But he demanded much, and his ideal was high, and he 
aimed to reach it. 

The only thing now to do, was never to see Eleanor 
again — to banish her from his thoughts and his life, cost 
what it would. To write and tell her of all that had 
happened since his return home, and how dearly and 
fondly he loved her, and that he would be forced since 
his father’s failure and death to give her up forever — 
that he had nothing to offer her now, not even the shad- 
ow of a hope for the future, would be base and selfish in 
him and elicit from her noble nature some generous 
response, to which he could not think of listening, when 
his mother was looking to him for her daily bread, and 
he had not even the means of obtaining it. Jack Hilder 
was right — riches should be her portion. To hedge a 
woman like Eleanor Montcalm about with poverty and 
all its attendant disadvantages would be like burying a 
rare and costly diamond in the mud. His mind was 
made up. He would never see her again and silence 
was the best weapon to cut asunder every fibre of the 
love that had grown and ripened in the few short 
months they had spent together in the Ozarks. He 


so THEY PARTED. 


21 


rose from his seat, his face pale and haggard and wear- 
ing the marks of the conflict he had just passed through. 
There were large purple streaks under his fine, gray- 
blue eyes; the nose was pinched, and an expression of 
pain and added resoluteness appeared about the mouth. 
He brushed something like a tear from his cheek, thrust 
his hands down in his trousers pockets, and paced the 
floor far into the night. 

In the morning, he rose and dressed himself with more 
than usual care and called on General Evans. The 
General had heard of his financial troubles and the death 
of his father. 

‘‘You are just in time. My private secretary is given 
a position of higher trust, and I am happy to offer you 
the place until something better turns up.'' 

Richard gladly accepted the proffered position. 

He had been a year and a half with General Evans, 
when a small distant city offered a large prize for the 
best architectural model, by which to build a new Opera 
House. Richard had been thinking for a long time of 
turning his attention to the profession of architecture. 
It was one, which while it would afford him expression 
for his artistic talent, would at the same time bring him 
ample compensation for his labor. It was a profession 
ennobled and made famous by such artists as Michael 
Angelo, Raphael, and Leonardo de Vinci. 

He set himself to compete for the prize, doing all the 
work at night, after returning home from his office. 
When finished he sent his design to the gentleman who 
was president of the committee of distinguished citizens 


22 JOMS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

who were to give their decision as to the distinctive 
rnerits of the models. Richard’s was accepted; therefore 
he was made the architect of the building, which coni- 
pelled him to give up his secretaryship to General Evans. 
The Opera House, when finished, was such a model of 
grace, elegance and beauty on the outside and such com- 
fort, artistic finish and harmony of color inside, that it 
became the pride of the citizens and the praise of every 
stranger who spent a day and night in M . 

If a man could build an opera house like this, he cer- 
tainly could design and build a church. So reasoned the 

city of M , and it was not long until many orders 

came to Richard from smaller towns and cities, that were 
to rival each other in beauty and style of their public 
buildings and private residences. As a prophet is never 
without honor save in his own country, it took him some 
time to gain a foothold in the metropolis of his birth. 


CHAPTER III. 

AS HOWARD STANHOPE'S WIFE. 

FOR A whole year after Eleanor’s return from the 
Ozark Hills, she watched daily and hourly for a .visit 
from Richard, and for some word that would explain his. 
silence and absence; but none came. 

He had not committed himself by any proposal of mar- 
riage. but love has a language of its own. Did not heart 
speak to heart, soul go out to soul ? Did not his eyes 
look a wealth of love into hers.> There were love and 


AS HOWARD STANHOPE'S WIFE. 23 

tenderness in his voice whenever he spoke to her. Then 
he was always with her — ever by her side; every wish, 
every desire was anticipated by him. Oh, to see him for 
one half hour! Oh, for one word that would forever set 
at rest her doubts and fears! So she cried in her heart as 
the days passed into weeks, the weeks into months, and 
the Spring, with its budding trees, blossoming shrubs, 
sweet winds and soft blue skies, came and went, and he 
was still silent. 

Such men as Richard Alden never trifle with the affec* 
tions. If he loved her, and was forced by some cause 
unknown to give her up, what must it have cost him? 
She had heard of his father’s death and something of 
his financial troubles. But how little he understood her 
true character, if he was to allow this death to blight 
their love, and to separate two lives that might have 
ennobled each other and have been one long rythm of 
sweet harmony and happiness. Then her pride came 
to her aid, as it always will to a woman like Eleanor, 
and she tried to forget him, and banish him forever from 
her heart, as one not worthy of her. 

Then Howard Stanhope appeared on the scene. He 
was a handsome, shrewd, intelligent man of thirty -five 
years. His manners and address were all that could be 
desired. He had travelled a great deal, and had seen 
much of the world. He was not exactly a rich man, but 
was in a fair way to become so. He fell deeply in love 
with Eleanor ; and, in a month after they first met, he 
asked Mrs. Montcalm for Eleanor’s hand in marriage. 
Eleanor, while she did not say ‘‘No,” gave little encour- 


24 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

agement to his never ceasing attentions until her grand- 
mother was taken to bed ill. Mrs. Montcalm knew she 
would never rise again, and it was her ardent wish that 
her granddaughter and Howard Stanhope should be 
married before she departed this life. 

“I have but a little while to live, Eleanor, dear,’’she 
said; “and I would be happy if I could see you Howard 
Stanhope^s wife. Do not be foolish, dear child. All 
women have their ideals, but they seldom marry them. 
The world is too cold and selfish, dear, for you to step 
down and out into it, young, penniless and alone. It 
would turn an entirely different face to you. You would 
not know it, my child, — or at least, the world that knew 
you once would not know you after 1 am gone. As 
Howard Stanhope's wife, it will be different. Believe 
me, you will not regret this marriage, my child, and he 
will make you a devoted husband." 

At the end of two years from the day she parted with 
Richard Alden, Eleanor and Howard Stanhope were 
married privately at the bedside of her grandmother. 
In a few days after, the old lady died happy in the 
thought that her beloved granddaughter was provided for. 
Nor had Eleanor ever any reason to regret her marriage 
with Howard Stanhope. From the day she first became 
his wife, until the night he was so cruelly murdered, he 
had grown in her respect and esteem, which was much 
from a woman like Eleanor. She gave him of her best, 
and repaid his kindness, tenderness, love and devotion 
with loyalty, a sincere and grateful affection, mixed 
with reverence. 


ST. URSULA "S. 


25 


CHAPTER IV. 

ST. URSULA’S. 

It was the full noon of an April day. A gleam of pale 
sunshine parted the heavy, overhanging clouds and 
struck athwart the gray spire of old St. Vincent’s Church, 
and threw long arrows of gold down its stone-crusted 
side. The soft wind shook the rain drops from the freshly 
leaved trees, that were making a sad fight for life with 
the curbstone, the brick pavements and the lime dust 
of the streets; even the sweet breath of silent perfume 
with which they kissed the cheek of each passer-by 
made an appeal for their neglect and stunted growth. 
To the left, St. Peter and Paul’s chimes were ringing 
out in clear rich swells the noon Angelus, their deep 
knells and low ding-clangs falling back and seeming to 
glint on the ear of St. Joseph’s statue, that stood as if in 
a listening attitude, beaming down from his pedestal in 
the men’s garden of St. Ursula’s Institute for the Insane. 

St. Ursula’s Institute for the Insane stood dark and 
grim, with its heavy iron-barred windows and doors, 
facing St. Vincent’s church, and covering the whole of 
the block. The bell in its high tower had taken up the 
last dying notes of the chimes and given its first three 
strokes, when a carriage drew up before its door. 

It was nothing new for a carriage to stop before St. 


26 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

Ursula’s door. They stopped there every hour, half 
hour and twenty minutes of the day and far into the 
night. They emptied their burdens before its portals, 
which admitted all secrets; but when once the locks and 
bars were drawn on the patient, never disclosed any. 

It is with this particular carriage and its two occupants 
that we have to do. Those who had known Eleanor 
Stanhope a year and six months before in the rich bloom 
and beauty of womanhood, would not have recognized 
her in the pale, worn, emaciated woman who leaned 
back in its cushions while the thin, jewelled fingers 
picked nervously the fur of the seal-skin cloak that fell 
from her shoulders over her lap and down about her 
feet. Indeed, everything about her indicated a hur- 
ried departure; from the heavy dark hair, that escaped 
from under her bonnet, and hung in long, tangled 
braids down her back, to the black cashmere gown open 
at the throat, and the unbuttoned shoes on the small 
feet. 

She sat a physical wreck of her old self — a bundle of 
shattered nerves — what was left of the experiments of 
hospital doctors and nurses. The broad forehead wore 
marks of intense suffering; the large dark eyes were 
sunken under the arched brows and expressed in every 
glance the look of a hunted and wounded deer, and told 
of prayers and pleadings to her fellow beings for rest, 
quiet ^nd sympathy, that were answered with indiffer- 
ence and the force used in making her obey the stern 
commands of doctors, blind in their own predjudice who 
would brook no ooinion of hers given in her own case. 


ST. URSULA’S. 


37 

forgetting that her body was hers, and if their expert 
ments were injurious, she was the one who suffered, — 
told of the betrayal and desertion of friends ^s, one 
by one, they left her in her affliction to her fate. Now, all 
she cared for was to hide away, and be alone with herself 
and God. There had come upon her a fear, a distrust and 
dread of her own kind, — indeed, of all Human kind. Had 
some artist been in search of a theme for his pencil, he 
Would have found in the noble face, aside from its pallor 
and emaciation, a modern Mater Dolorosa. 

Her mind was still strong. No cloud had darkened the 
bright intellect. But the fine, sensitive organism had 
given away, — broken down under the shock of her hus- 
band’s death, who had one night been brought home to 
her, cruelly murdered. The after conflict with the world 
— its injustice and the lies that followed as they always 
do a lone and beautiful woman, — resulted in a long 
illness. 

There was nothing in the manner and bearing of the 
gentleman who sat beside her that showed any sympa- 
thy or solicitude for his charge, unless it was a slight 
anxiety to get her out of the carriage and into the place 
of restand repose, to which he had promised to take her. 
As he looked about him in a furtive way, there was a 
gleam of triumph in his cold brown eyes, that even the 
legal glasses that rested upon his somewhat prominent 
nose could not conceal. A secret revenge that he had 
indulged and fed upon from the first hint given him by 
a supposed friend of Eleanor’s, in whose house she was 
first taken ill, “that really, her mind was certainly 


28 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

affected,’' was now being gratified. Nothing this sup- 
posed friend said that day, as the two sat together in 
the parlor, discussing the poor sick woman, who lay in 
one of the upper chambers, was missed by him. Every 
sentence she let fall in regard to Eleanor’s mind was a 
thread which he gathered together and cunningly and 
adroitly wrought and wove into the strong rope, by 
which he held her, as it were, by the neck. He had 
brought her from a town distant some thirty miles from 
the city, where she had gone some weeks before to a pri- 
vate sanitarium. He had come this morning armed with 
a certificate of insanity from a strange country doctor, 
who had seen but little of her. 

‘‘Is this a hospital?” she said, a sort of horror taking 
hold of her as she gazed up at the great prison-like house, 
feeling that she was once more the victim of some 
deception. 

“It’s a fine place, a good place, ma’am, where you 
will be well taken care of; the Sisters are good women,” 
answered the driver, as he lifted her out of the carriage. 
He had a large, fair, honest Irish face. 

“Can you walk a little?” he asked as her feet touched 
the pavement. 

“Oh, no, no! It is impossible, — you will not compel 
me to, — you will be kind enough to carry me,” she 
replied, and her voice and words carried with them an 
appealing cry. 

The gentleman glanced at the driver suggestively, 
and the driver thought to himself, “Poor thing! The 
gentleman is right; her mind is gone on that subject.*' 


ST. URSULA'S. 


29 

In a few minutes, Eleanor was sitting on a sofa in a 
large parlor of the Institute, surrounded by four Sisters, 
who had entered noiselessly, but for the flap and whir 
made by the wings of their white bonnets, as if a flock 
of birds were sailing through the air. 

“You have come quite a journey this morning," said 
Sister Doris, the Superior, in a voice as soft and cooing 
as a dove's, but which seemed to have no part with the 
small, cold gray eyes that looked calmly upon her from 
under the white linen that banded her brow, and soft- 
ened a face that otherwise would have been harsh in 
outline. Her gray-blue habit hung loose on her small, 
spare figure, which seemed to be a mass of bones, 
shaken together, and half hid itself in the voluminous 
sleeves folded back from a long tapering hand that she 
laid gently on Eleanor's shoulder. While there was too 
much of the American type in Sister Doris to be termed 
Jesuitical, yet she was shrewd, polished and politique; 
these qualities were made more dangerous by possess- 
ing all a woman's fine tact and subtlety. She managed 
the great Institution of which she was the head with 
the skill of a diplomatiste. She knew the world well. 
While these women live out of the world, the world 
goes to them. 

“I have not come so very far," returned Eleanor, 
resting her large, dark eyes on Sister Doris' face; “I 
have been for a long time ill, very ill. I didn't want to 
to return to the city. I went purposely to the country, 
so that I could live in the fresh air. It is the only thing 
to strengthen the nerves and make one sleep. I have 


30 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW., 

not slept an hour in twenty-four for months; some nights 
I lie all night without closing my eyes. Now that the^ 
spring is here, 1 wanted to lay and sit under the trees 
and have the winds blow about me, and listen to the 
birds singing and watch the clouds sailing in the beau- 
tiful blue sky, and the flowers bud and bloom. It would 
have been food for both mind and body; such things take 
one’s thoughts off one’s self. Why, even to see' the 
green grass and the chickens picking about, and the 
horses, dogs and cows are interesting ; yes, even the 
pigs are a more welcome sight than some human faces, 
for they won’t knowingly harm any one. Of course, 
one cannot expect much but a grunt from pigs, but they 
won’t lie and deceive.” 

She said all this as a sick baby might say ‘.'Mamma!” 
and reach out its arms to the mother it loved. Her long 
illness had given her the simplicity of a child, and she 
reached out her arms to the things she loved, but was 
refused them. 

‘‘All I wanted was rest, she continued, her eyes still 
intent on Sister Doris’ face. ‘‘Oh! How I have begged 
for rest and quiet, but instead I have been driven like a 
sheep to slaughter, and made to do this and that — things 
that 1 knew were ail the while injuring me. After 1 arose 
from my sick bed, I was very nervous. I used to walk 
hours at a strStch. Sometimes I have walked the floor 
the whole ntght long. Then my strength gave out and 
^my limbs refused to move under me. When 1 went to 

Doctor D ’s Sanitarium, I told him that I could not 

walk, I wished only rest. Dear.old^Doctor C , my 


ST. URSULA^S. 


31 

own physician, said all I needed was fresh air, nour- 
ishment and quiet. But instead of rest Dr. D said 

it was exercise I required most, and what was I doing all 
the while but exercising? I grew weaker and weaker 
from his treatment, and became so reduced that I could 
not rise out of bed. Then 1 sent for Mr. Brand, my law- 
yer. I cannot understand why a physician should act so 
cruelly, unless he was misinformed in regard to my con- 
dition; or because 1 was alone and he wished to bring me 
under his will. I begged Mr. Brand to rent me a 

cottage in B , but it was refused like every other 

request I made. B is beautiful at this season of 

the year. It lies among the hills, and they are lovely 
now in their sweet spring green. Did you ever wake up 
in the morning and catch a glimpse of the Western hills 
at sunrise ? It is better than drugs or — hypnotism, 
for one feels that the face of God is shining upon them, 
and the sight gives one peace and rest for hours. 

. Eleanor gazed up in Sister Doris’ face and smilea. 
Sister Doris smiled back, satisfied now that the woman 
was really out of her senses. 

‘‘Is this a hospital?” she asked, somewhat exhausted 
after her long speech. “Mr. Brand promised to rent a 
cottage in the city suburbs and provide me with a nurse. 
He said it would be more convenient to have me in the 
suburbs. The summer will be here soon, and it will be 
unbearable to be shut up in the house — it will be a liv- 
ing death.” 

“You will remain with us; we will not let you leave 
ps until you are entirely well,” said Sister Doris, caress^ 


32 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

ingly. ‘‘W-e have the finest nerve doctor in the city, — 
indeed, he is considered the greatest scientist in respect 
to the nerves and brain in the United States/^ 

‘‘Does he give drugs?’’ inquired Eleanor, with a gleam 
of defiance in the sad eyes. ‘Hf he does, I won’t take 

them. Dr. C said I did not need medicine. I know 

it hurts me, — it nearly sets me wild.” 

‘‘Now, dear, you will go with Sister Beatrice. She 
will wheel you to your room. You will leave your wraps 
here with me.” And Sister Doris picked up the long 
sealskin cloak that had fallen at Eleanor’s feet, and 
threw it across her arm. 

The other three Sisters had left the parlor as noise- 
lessly as they had entered; but, as Eleanorglanced in the 
direction where Mr. Brand was pacing the floor in the 
upper end of the room with his hands behind his back, she 
saw, standing by an open door that led into a hall, a Sis- 
ter she had not observed before. She was still young, 
tall and spare. The brow was broad and the eyes large 
and blue, that mellow blue the skies take on in the early 
June days, and made setter by drooping lids and long 
dark lashes, which hid behind them ever so much — tears 
that were never shed, sighs that were never allowed 
to escape, except now and then, as her head rested on 
its hard pillow at night and sleep refused to repress them 
' — the longing for freedom from the thraldom that bound 
and crushed body and soul, and which she knew could 
never be realized this side of the grave. The nose was 
straight with delicately curved nostrils, the mouth large 
and kind, yet it bore marks of weariness; — indeed, her 


ST. URSULA'S. 


33 

whole manner and air was that of weary indifference to 
all objects, persons, and her surroundings. She rolled 
a large cane chair on wheels close up to where Eleanor 
sat. Mr. Brand stopped pacing the floor and crossed to 
Eleanor's side. 

‘‘You will be well taken care of here," he said, glanc- 
ing furtively at Eleanor's back from under his glasses 
and changing the gray spring overcoat he had carried 
with him from one arm to the other. “I will leave you 
now, as 1 have an engagement at one, and will call in 
a few days to see you." 

Sister Beatrice wheeled her charge out into a small 
square vestibule, and from there through a door into 
the long, narrow hall that ran north and south the 
whole length of the building. The ceilings were high 
and the walls were painted a delicate green. The floor 
was stained a black walnut, and waxed and polished 
until you could see your face as in a mirror. On each 
side of it were large, airy rooms, neatly and plainly fur- 
nished; and, at the south end, was a beautiful chapel. 
This was the Sisters' part of the house, and occupied sole- 
ly by them, with the exception of several of the rooms 
that were set apart for visitors, and furnished a little 
more expensively than the others. 

Eleanor was rolled along this hall, meeting many 
Sisters flitting to and fro, and in and out of the rooms. 
When they had reached the end. Sister Beatrice stopped 
before a large door with glass panels on each side, 
and took a key from a bunch that hung at her waist. 


3 


34 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

and turned it in the lock. The door swung back heavily 
into a long hall in a wing of the house, that ran east and 
west, the light from a large oriel window at the far end 
facing the east, growing dimly as it reached the western 
end, throwing it into deep gloom. This hall was 
about eight or nine feet wide and some hundred and 
twenty feet in length, with small rooms on each side 
about six by ten feet. The floor was covered with a 
faded oil cloth and on the walls, which were in their 
original white plaster, hung a few chromos and cheap 
lithographs between the doors. The first three or four 
rooms were comfortably furnished and had pretty in- 
grain carpets and a few bright rugs laid here and there. 
In all of the others, the furniture was scanty and bare, 
nothing but a small bed with its white coverlet, a wash- 
stand and two chairs; some had no carpet, just a piece 
of oilcloth laid on the floor in front of the bed. All the 
rooms were lighted by one window with square narrow 
panes and barred with strong iron bars. 

The place seemed filled with women, many of them 
walking silently with folded arms, while others held rosa- 
ries in their hands and were telling their beads as they 
passed along the hall. Some sat mutely on benches and 
chairs, others were strapped with leather straps to 
benches and chairs; a few of these were singing and 
gesticulating in a loud, strange way. Then again, others 
were flitting in and out of the rooms in an orderly, busy 
manner. 

'‘You wanted the fresh air, 1 believe,^’ said Sister 
Beatrice, stopping in front of the oriel window, which 


HANNAH CAMERON. 


35 

was open, and before little Bettie Jennings, the idiot 
girl, who began calling loudly and making all sorts of 
grimaces when she caught sight of Sister Beatrice and 
her charge. 

Sister Beatrice’s heart nearly stood still as she looked 
down at Eleanor, and her face became white and rigid 
with a peculiar drawing about her mouth ; but she made no 
outward sign of her inward feelings, as she calmly asked 
Melina the attendant for a pillow to place under Elean- 
or’s unconscious head. Eleanor lay as one dead, her 
face like a piece of cold, white marble on which the 
sculptor had chiseled the features of Fra Bartolomini’s 
Virgin Mother bending over her son, the crucified 
Christ. The last act of perfidy and base treachery had 
been too much for her weak body and had tried to their 
uttermost tension all her delicate and fine sensibilities. 


CHAPTER V. 

HANNAH CAMERON. 

When Eleanor returned to consciousness, she was 
lying in a small room six by ten feet, wainscoted half 
way up to the ceiling. The floor was covered with a 
faded and worn oilcloth and bare of any ornament or 
furniture, save one chair, an old cane rocker, and the 
usual single bedstead and washstand. But the soft spring 
air stole through the open window, and brought with it 
the scent of lilacs from a bush that bloomed beneath its 
sill in the garden, The rays of the afternoon sun danced 


36 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

on the iron bars, making a tracery of gold carpeting on 
the floor at her bedside, and gave a warmer tinge to its 
dingy walls of white plaster. 

“You are better now,’’ said Sister Beatrice, rising 
from her seat by the bed; and bending over, she brushed 
the damp hair from Eleanor’s brow. 

“Yes, I am better. My mind is quite clear. I am 
thankful to God it did not give way under the terrible 
strain. 1 could not have believed that any of God’s 
creatures could be so base. I never dreamed that under 
the pretense of good there existed so much that is evil. 
I know where I am. This house is an insane asylum.” 

And Eleanor gazed searchingly into Sister Beatrice’s 
face. It told nothing. It was as white and cold as her 
linen coronet. Her mouth twitched a little as she 
answered. 

“Thanks be to God that with the return of conscious- 
ness, your mind has not been shattered like your nerves. 
Now you must try and rest. There are very few insane 
in this hall. It is more for nervous people like yourself.” 

And Sister Beatrice shaded her eyes with their long 
lashes. Sister Beatrice’s eyes were her only tell-tale 
feature— the only one she had not under complete con- 
trol. Her eye-lashes were to her eyes what the leaves 
and petals of certain flowers are to the butterfly, whose 
color they resemble — a hiding place, a refuge from its 
enemies. She veiled her finer feelings, her better self, 
behind them. 

After Sister Beatrice left Eleanor, she lay undisturbed 
all the afternoon. But her mind was busy. She felt that 


HANNAH CAMERON. 


37 

these nuns would not harm her, but would they do 
anything to help her regain her physical strength? She 
was still young, scarcely twenty-eight. It would take 
months and years before the old strength even under 
the best conditions would return. In the meantime, her 
existence must be a living death. But even if she should 
regain her health, what would come after? She put the 
thought away from her as one she should not grapple 
with, — she must try not to think; her only hope was in 
being passive, — to give herself entirely into, the Father’s 
care. The God of mercy, justice and love would do the 
rest. She was as helpless as a babe a day old. 

The evening Angelushad finished ringing when Sister 
Beatrice entered Mrs. Stanhope’s room accompanied by 
the physician. He was a tall, stout man of German par- 
entage, and something of the student shone under his 
heavy, stolid features. There was about him an air of 
abstraction that w'as not conducive to gaining the con- 
fidence of his patients; and his small, cold, blue eyes, 
shaded by glasses, seldom, if ever, looked into a sick 
woman’s with sympathy. 

“Well! Well!” was his exclamation, adjusting his 
spectacles, and seating himself on the edge of the bed. 

”1 suppose you are the physician, ’’said Eleanor, rais- 
ing her large dark eyes searchingly to his face. ‘‘You 
can see for yourself that I have little need of a doctor; 
— there’s not much left of me to be doctored. 1 went to 
a beautiful country town five or six weeks ago for quiet 
and rest, where I could sit all day in the open air and 
sunshine. One can see so much out of doors, — a thou- 


i 


38 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

sand things to interest the mind and lift the thoughts 
from one’s sufferings. You see, dear sir, with this ner- 
vous prostration, the mind is apt to dwell on one’s self. 
Then one can rest so much better at night after breath- 
ing the fresh air all day. But no; that did not satisfy 
those who had me in charge. 1 was continually made to 
do things against my will and better judgment, which 
told me there was but one way to regain my strength, 
and that was gradually. But no; 1 must be pulled up, 
and pulled down; made to walk up and down three flights 
of stairs for exercise, while 1 cried in vain for rest — 
driven, driven, until they landed me here among the 
insane. I prayed for sleep — sleep. They gave me drugs. 
The drugs made me all the more wakeful. There was 
only one way out of this fearful condition, and that was 
refused me. You see what a wreck they have made of 
me physically, I suppose my mentality will go next.” 

Just as a drowning man who finds himself sinking for 
the last time makes one more desperate effort for the 
life he has so bravely struggled to save, she, having the 
bitter consciousness of the ignorance displayed in regard 
to her illness, gathered all her waning force to make her 
case as clear as possible to the Sister and the physician. 

The doctor turned his face from her and rose quickly 
from the bedside. The sparks of truth that flamed up 
from the fire of her soul and shone in her eyes that gazed 
straight into his, scorched somewhat the great physi- 
cian’s conscience, but he like Podsnap, brushed them 
aside. Women talked like her every day who were as 
crazy as loons. He turned to Sister Beatrice with the 


HANNAH CAMERON. $9 

remark, “Watch her, Sister; she needs watching,"' and 
left the room followed by Sister Beatrice. 

“Watch me, watch me," repeated Eleanor, almost 
blinded by the same sense of horror that had overcome 
her when she first entered the hall and it dawned upon 
her what kind of place she was in. “ These people 
must be fiends in human shape. What have I done to 
be watched?" 

In a few minutes, a plump, dark-eyed girl of nearly 
twenty years came in with a tray. 

“How are you feeling by this time?" she said, as she 
laid the tray on the bed at Eleanor's feet. But before 
Mrs. Stanhope had time to answer, she had left the room. 
In a moment she returned, bringing with her a small 
stand on which she placed the tray. The tray was old 
and rusty, and bare of cloth. It contained a little Britan- 
nia pot of tea, two slices of baker's bread, a small dish 
of very questionable butter and a saucer of something 
that looked like dried apples. 

“1 didn't ask you what you would like for supper; 
the regular attendant is out. I brought you what was 
sent up from the kitchen," and the girl began pouring out 
the tea into a large, thick porcelain cup. 

“1 care only for a cup of tea. I hope it is good and 
hot," said Eleanor, glancing at the repast that was any- 
thing but inviting to her delicate appetite. 

“I can't speak for its goodness, but I know it is hot. 
I would not bring any lady sick like you cold or lukewarm 
tea, the way it is generally sent to us from the kitchen. 
1 am not allowed off this hall, not even to go into the 


40 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

yard,'' said she, her black eyes snapping, but with a 
kindly twinkle in them as she looked at Eleanor. “Yet 
I know a way to get down into the kitchen, you would 
never guess. Oh! It's lots of fun! I go down from the 
dining-room in the dumb waiter." Here her broad face 
became all wrinkled with silent laughter. “I nearly 
frighten the life out of the girls that work in the kitchen. 
Sister Mary scolds and threatens to muff me, but I get 
the hot tea all the same. — Oh! I can stand to be muffed 
any time if I can get hot tea and toast for the sick." 

“You are very kind," said Eleanor, touched by the 
girl's frank ways and glad of anything like human sym- 
pathy. But before she had finished her sentence, the 
girl was gone. 

The day had faded into the twilight; the last rays of 
the setting sun came through the iron bars and traced 
the dingy walls of her little room with lines of yellow 
light, that seemed to weave themselves into intricate 
patterns, until it appeared to Eleanor they hung as with 
golden tapestry. The lilac bush under her window 
gave out all its wealth of perfume to the cool breeze 
that stole through the open sash and laved her aching 
temples. As the dusk deepened, she could see, through 
her door that stood ajar, the long procession of women 
that filed up and down the hall. Some looked in and 
smiled as they passed her door; others simply raised 
their eyes from their beads in the direction of where 
she lay. One very tall old lady, with flowing white 
hair, would stop before her door, stretch out her long 
bony arm and scrawny wrinkled hand, and exclaim, 


HANNAH CAMERON. 4I 

^‘What crime brought you here? Have you come to be 
damned with the rest of us?’’ and then pass on. 

As it grew darker, it seemed to Eleanor that these 
women were all shadows and ghosts, and that the place 
was a vast prison house — a purgatory where the soul 
was confined for the misdeeds done in the flesh, until it 
was purged and cleansed from its sins; but her senses 
told her no, it was all a hideous reality. 

She was aroused from these thoughts by a gentle tap 
on her door, and there entered a small, delicate woman 
with a step so soft and mouse-like, that Mrs. Stanhope 
was not aware of her presence until she stood over her 
bed. She was dressed in deep black, the slight dislo- 
cation of one shoulder marring somewhat an otherwise 
petite symmetrical figure. Her hair, of that pale gold 
which seldom changes its color until it becomes snow- 
white, was drawn back in plain bands from a broad, 
intelligent brow and worn in a low knot at the back of 
her neck. There were some faint seams above the deep 
set gray-blue eyes. Indeed, it was hard to tell the color 
of her eyes; — it depended on whatever at the time stirred 
the deep pools of her soul, which were ever swelling 
with love for erring and suffering humanity. The mouth, 
with its clear cut lips, sensitive and delicate in their 
upturning curves, softened the lines of the cheek and 
chin, that were more firm in contour, and which gave 
the stronger points to her character. She held in one 
hand a quart pitcher, and in the other a goblet. 

brought you a cool drink,’’ she said, pouring the 
water into the goblet and handing it to Eleanor, who 


42 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

drank it eagerly. would have come in earlier, but 
they told me you were resting quietly, and I did not like 
to disturb you. Your head is hot,’’ and she smoothed 
back the heavy damp hair from the sick woman’s brow. 

Eleanor felt the touch of that small thin hand going 
all through her, for it imparted so much love and sym- 
pathy in its caress. 

She took the long thick braids of hair between her 
fingers and began to twine the heavy strands together. 

will tighten these,” she said, ‘‘so that the loose 
hairs will not gather about your neck and make you 
uncomfortable.” 

Then she went out and came back with a towel and 
a basin of tepid water and bathed Mrs. Stanhope’s face 
and hands. 

“Who are you?” asked Eleanor, rising up in bed and 
leaning on her elbow, thinking the soft-voiced fairy-like 
creature was one of God’s ministering spirits, sent by 
Him to comfort and aid her in her extreme need. 

“Now, dear, don’t mind who I am; the regular atten- 
dant is out — what I want is for you to try and sleep to- 
night.” 

“Well, what are you and where did you come from? 
You are unlike any one I have met in this long illness 
— you are so good and kind. Surely you can’t belong 
to this place.” 

“Yes, I belong here,” she answered with a sigh, un- 
buttoning Eleanor’s wool wrapper that had not been 
removed, and slipping over her head a white night dress. 

“You must not bother yourself with questions; you are 
in the hands of God. You have got to a place where 


HANNAH "CATWERON. 


43 

you cannot help yourself. Tnerefore you must put all 
your trust in your Heavenly Father. Rest in* Him, and 
all things will come unto you. Don't worry whatever 
yo i do — 1 beg of you not to worry. It is worry,' worry 
that sends half the people here. 

She untied Mrs. Stanhope's shoes and folded^hei 
hands over her stone-cold feet, and rubbed and chafed 
them until she brought warmth and circulation; into 
them.. Then she smoothed her pillow and the cov e rlet s, 
and tucked them in about her. 

‘‘If you should hear any strange noises in the night, 
don't be afraid; no harm will come to you." 

Eleanor took her hand in hers and held it to her lips. 

“If I knew you were near me," replied El-eanor:. “I 
think I could sleep as I have not slept in a year," and 
she laid her head back on the pillow again. 

“My room is a few doors below yours. Sister 
Beatrice is at prayers. She will give you a call before 
retiring. Now, dear, will you say this little prayer for 
my sake before going to sleepl You are not a Catholic, 
but it will not hurt you to say this, ‘Mary, immaculate 
mother of Jesus, pray for me.' " 

“No; I am not a Catholic, but the prayer is good, and 
I will say it with all my heart. Perhaps the sweet Mo- 
ther, who suffered so much herself, will hear me and 
help me," returned Eleanor," not yet sure but what this 
small, noiseless, golden-haired woman was a spirit from 
another realm.) 

“Good night," and Hannah Cameron left the room: 

In a few minutes, a white bonnet made its appearance 
and a hand thrust a large key into the lock.. 


44 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW, 

‘'Good night/’ said Sister Beatrice, drawing the door 
to, and locking it on the outside. 

It was late when Eleanor fell asleep, but she did fall 
asleep and dreamed that she was well and in all the vigor 
of health, strength and the splendor of her beauty again. 
That she was in a large house, and the house had been 
made ready for a great feast, and that all the rooms were 
brilliant with light and the color of rich hangings. Bloom- 
ing plants and rare flowers of every variety filled the air 
with their delicate perfume and odors. Birds of every 
clime and country flitted among them and trilled forth 
their sweet and delicious strains. As she went from room 
to room, she heard strains of weird music. Sometimes 
it was soft and low, and full of the most exquisite pathos; 
now light and rollicking with the quick time of a drink- 
ing song; then solemn and sad like a funeral dirge. Then 
again, it was the story of life’s love and tragedy, and 
seemed to have some connection with her own past 
and future. 

Then the rooms began to fill with guests, but they 
were all strange to her, until one, a woman fair and 
beautiful, made her appearance. Her white diaphonous 
robe, swathing her slender body that was like a willow 
in its lithe and swinging grace, with sprays of lilies nestled 
in its folds, hung from her shoulders, girded her waist 
and crowned her golden head. Eleanor looked again 
and saw it was the face of Hannah Cameron, the one 
that had bent over her that same evening with its seamed 
brow and deep-set tender eyes, so full of sadness and 
love, with a whole life’s story behind them. But this 


HANNAH CAMERON. 


45 

face, while it was the same, was young and of surpass- 
ing loveliness, and shone upon her with a glorified 
radiance. 

She came to Eleanor, took her hand in hers, and led 
her out into a large hall, and down a long winding stair- 
way, and out of a door into the open air and to a beau- 
tiful valley that seemed to be lighted by the mingled 
splendor of the moon and sun; but there was no moon 
or sun visible in the heavens. She could see great, 
majestic mountains in the distance, their peaks like 
church spires looming up in the sombre light of the night 
She felt the cool air, perfumed with the odor of many 
flowers, imparting vigor and strength to her body, which 
seemed to have no more weight than the atmosphere 
she breathed. As they walked hand in hand, every kind 
of tree was to be seen. Fruit ripe and luscious grew 
on the same stem with the blossoms. Graceful willows 
shaded cool, babbling streams; tall elms raised their 
slender up-curving branches, until they seemed to kiss 
the dusky purple of the sky. Stately oaks caught the 
moonbeams among their leaves and edged the shadows 
which they threw athwart the ground with a luminous 
yellow light. The cypress and the pines stood side by 
side with the cactus and magnolias freighted with flowers. 
The soft south wines sighed and soughed through their 
branches and shook the scented leaves at their feet. 

Hannah Cameron led Eleanor on among beautiful 
beings that peopled the place, until they came to a clear 
running stream, whose lisping and filtering filled the 
whole valley with its music. Beside this stream sat a 


46 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW: 

man. His age scarcely thirty; His garments, which 
were white and glistened like snow rifts shot with the 
rays of the winter's sun, hung from his shoulders to the 
ground. His long flowing hair of a golden brown rippled 
away from a fair brow down his neck ana shoulders in 
oriental fashion. His eyes were large, gray, and full 
of a deep tender love and compassion. His beard, the 
color of his hair, was short and forked on a chin, delicate 
and pointed. He was a man for His singular and noble 
beauty, surpassing the children of men. The sun, moon 
and stars all seemed centered in Him, and from His face 
shone their radiance, which lighted the whole valley; 
and, as they approached where He sat, He greeted them 
with these words: 

“Come, my daughters, you have both fasted of the 
bitter cup and drunk it to its very dregs. Drink now of 
the water of life and be comforted." 

“It is the Master, the dear Lord Christ," cried Han-^ 
nah Cameron, letting go Eleanor's hand. With that,. 
Eleanor awoke.. 


CHAPTER VI. 

CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 

AFTER Jonas Brand left the Institute, he made his 
way directly to his office, which was situated down in 
the very business center of thd city, in an old, dingy 
four-story building,"^surrounded and hemmed in on all. 
sides^bv modem architecture, like a book of old parch*^ 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 47 

ment in the midst of a library of newly bound volumes. 
Up the first flight of its worn wooden steps . Jonas Brand 
had climbed to his room for nearly twenty-five years 
as he did at this moment. When he entered the door 
of the outer room of his suite, he gave a great puff and 
stood a few seconds to rest, then slowly pulled off his 
gray spring overcoat, shook it once or twice, and laid 
it on a small table that stood near a door leading to a 
dark inner chamber. Then he removed his high hat, 
placed it and his cane carefully beside his coat, turneu 
to his desk, opened it, moved a chair in front of it, and 
sat down. 

Everything in the office seemed to take upon itself 
the character of the building and the peculiarities of the 
occupant. The walls were bare and had on some 
spring day long ago in the olden time, when the smoke 
of many winters had blackened the original white plaster 
beyond all recognition, received a light tint of blue, 
which made them look now very much as the sky does 
on a sunless murky day. At one end of this room was 
a large bookcase, reaching almost to the ceiling, filled 
with leather bound lore pertaining to a man named 
Blackstone and the law, ancient, English, and of the 
present time. A few plaster casts of celebrated dead 
and gone legal lights ornamented the top of this sooty, 
begrimed piece of furniture. Several stout, strong arm- 
chairs stood around the floor, which was covered with 
oil-cloth, whose pattern had all disappeared like the 
green grass on a much travelled road, leaving it a sub- 
dued shade of clay. The only new piece of furniture 


48 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

in the office was the writing desk, before which Jonas 
Brand was now seated. 

While he kept pace with his competitors in the prac- 
tice of the law and in money making, his surroundings 
were anything but those of a man of means. ‘‘He could 
see no use,’^ as he remarked one day to a client, ’with 
a twirl of his thumbs, and holding up the forefinger of a 
very small white hand, “when money was made at the 
expense of a man’s eyesight, brain and mental vigor, 
to threw it away on gimcracks, gewgaws and soapsud 
bubbles that cut no figure in life’s case.” 

He was verging on to forty years, of medium height, 
and rather stout. His dark auburn hair gave his full- 
lidded eyes a reddish-brown hue, which paled somewhat 
under glasses that rested on a prominent nose. The 
mouth was small, sensual, and somewhat vacillating; 
but, whatever softness came into an otherwise hard, 
practical and selfish nature, carried under a suave, bland 
oily surface, it betrayed itself in the lines of the well- 
formed lips and the pleasant smile that at times lighted 
up the repose of his stolid features. Jonas Brand had 
two loves, which he had hugged and cherished all his 
life. In one of these he had no rival, this was himself. 
He loved women, but solely as his prey. The only 
sentiment that had ever touched and penetrated beyond 
the thick epidermis of self, was when he first met Ele- 
anor Stanhope years before, then Eleanor Montcalm, a 
tall and stately girl of nineteen, with a crown of lustrous 
tresses whose raven hue seemed all the darker in con- 
trast with the marble whiteness of her skin, and the 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 49 

large dusky eyes, where shone all the light and fervor 
of a great soul. 

Why her rare and pure beauty should have stirred 
so much passion, so much that is called love, in the 
heart of Jonas Brand, is one of those instances which 
refute the old truism, that like attracts like. The more 
he sought her, the more she evaded him and repelled 
every avowal of love which opportunity afforded him 
to make. This only intensified his passion, angered 
him, and made him vindictive and relentless towards 
her. 

Eleanor had been eight years married, when Howard 
Stanhope, her husband, was brought home one night 
to her, dead, — cruelly and foully murdered, — and robbed 
of fifty thousand dollars in bonds. He had just re- 
turned from a distant Western city, where he had 
gone on business to a branch house of the firm whose 
confidential agent he was. He expected to arrive in his 
own city in time to deposit the bonds in the bank, 
but the train from some cause being delayed, it was 
after midnight when he reached his destination. He 
was on his way home when he was overtaken and 
murdered. The only clue found was that a suspicious 
looking man had been seen to leave the same car with 
him, and was supposed to have followed him and com- 
mitted the deed. 

Howard Stanhope died intestate, but leaving an in- 
surance policy on his life for many tho sand dollars in 
his wife’s name. 


4 


50 . JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

A few days after he had been laid to rest, Jonas Brand 
appeared on the scene. There is no time in a woman’s 
life when she is so susceptible to kindness and sympa- 
thy as when she finds herself in a moment, as it were, 
deprived of the husband who stood between her and 
the outer world, like an oak sheltering from the rude 
winds and biting frosts and blasts of the storm, the del- 
icate and fragile vine that twines about it. When 
Eleanor stood over the dead body of her husband, it 
seemed to her that all life died within her. 

He was not her first love, as we know ; but he had 
been to her, brother, husband, friend and lover. And 
when the sun of his day had set, she felt that if her hand 
could stay it, the sun of this world should never shine 
again. She cared nothing now for her home, her ele- 
gant surroundings, only so far as she saw him in them; 
but now that he was gone, what were home, money 
and position to her ? 

So, with these feelings and a grief-stricken heart, 
Jonas Brand found her and proffered his services, tell- 
ing her she must lay aside her grief, that she still had 
to go on living, that she was childless, that there was 
no will, but the law would settle all matters pertaining 
to the estate of her husband and its debts. And he 
would be happy at any time to serve her. 

Eleanor, as she sat that day in her large cool drawing 
room, its walls hung with costly paintings, rare etch- 
ings and choice filling every nook and cranny, 

every jot and angle, listening to Mr. Brand, whose 
words of friendship touched her more in her sorrow 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 5 1 

and loneliness than any former eloquent protestation of 
love, spoken with all the ardor and fire of years gone by. 

When a man's passion for a woman dies, all other 
feelings for her die with it. With a woman, death alone 
kills the pity that still lurks in her breast for the man 
whose love she could not return, whose proffered hand 
it pained her to reject. Eleanor had something of this 
pity for Mr. Brand, and she blamed herself for her treat- 
ment of him in the past. But they would be friends in 
the future, — she could like him ever so much in that 
way. He was married, of course, she knew ; but what 
is higher and more ennobling, she felt, than the friend- 
ship of a woman for a man ? (What a pity there doesn't 
exist more of pure friendship between the sexes). 

She knew little or nothing of Mr. Brand's life since 
her marriage. She had heard he had married a most 
estimable lady (which was true), a maiden lady of 
small fortune, but some years older. Jonas was not 
long in getting hold of her fortune. Then there came 
a day in which there was a stormy scene and almost 
an open rupture. But his wife found herself helpless 
to amend matters, so she made the best of it, as all 
good wives do. 

To Eleanor's mind, distracted as it was by her recent 
affliction, Jonas Brand's services were a welcome relief. 
It was so thoughtful and kind of him to come to her in 
her distress. She could trust him with her money; he 
was an astute lawyer and he would do better by her 
than a stranger. 


52 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

But in her innocence and ignorance of the world, she 
did not see avarice waiting outside, — for nothing suffices 
its hunger or appeases its greed. She did not know that 
the law, which he spoke of as being her protector and 
of which he was a representative, was an intricate net- 
work of loopholes that he had studied and knew to 
perfection. He could tangle her and her affairs in its 
meshes, but he knew which end to pull to let himself 
escape. So, after a few weeks, Jonas Brand was made 
executor of Howard Stanhope^s estate, and a little later 
on, Eleanor had placed all her money in his hands to 
invest. Then three months had not elapsed when she 
fonnd herself homeless, occupying a small room in Mrs. 
Williams’ fashionable boarding house. All her personal 
effects and real estate had been disposed of through Mr. 
Brand’s advice; but Jonas was sharp — he sold them in 
the estate of her husband. 

Not satisfied with getting all her property into his 
hands, Jonas wished to become sole owner of her person. 
The years had not killed his passion for the fair Eleanor. 
It had but slept, ready at any moment to awaken and 
leap into renewed flame and burn again with all the 
heat of old days. For the young widow in her weeds 
was more beautiful and fascinating in her maturity than 
the shy and retiring girl of nineteen and twenty. And 
that pensiveness which was always peculiar to her, was 
more intensified in the thoughtful brow, the large, dark 
eyes, the play of the delicate features that lent such a 
charm to her whole face. None of this was lost on Jonas 
Brand’s coarse and stolid nature 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 53 

It sometimes maddened him almost to a frenzy when 
she returned a look or word of his that had in it any of 
the old time passion, with indifference, a cold hauteur, 
that would quell for the moment any further advances. 
But he was not to be put off in this way. One evening 
— it was after six o'clock dinner at Mrs. Williams' — 
Eleanor sat alone in her room. Her room was small, 
but every nook and corner showed evidence of the re- 
finement of its occupant, and that dainty hands had put 
the finishing touches to its simple furnishing. White 
muslin curtains draped the windows and were caught 
back with loops of blue satin. The same muslin made 
a canopy for the single iron bedstead, the blue satin 
drawing back the long folds and fastening them to its 
posts with bows. In its snow-white purity it was a fit 
couch for a holy saint to repose on. 

A few bright Persian rugs covered here and there 
the faded ingrain carpet. Some rare etchings and sketches 
of her husband's, saved from the sale of his effects, 
hung on the gray tinted walls. A small statue in mar- 
ble of the one-armed Venus of Milo ornamented the 
black walnut mantel-piece. Her small oak writing desk 
stood in one corner and there were books piled in hang- 
ing shelves and strewn about in every available spot. 

She sat by a table reading Longfellow's Divine Trag- 
edy, the mellow light from a student lamp accentuating 
her tall, slender figure, clad in soft clinging folds of 
black cashmere, and fell upon her pale clear-cut fea- 
tures, making them look as transparent as the white 
porcelain shade of the lamp. She raised her eyes from 


54 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

her book, thinking she heard a strange footstep outside 
in the hall. Then there came a light knock on her 
door and Lucy, the colored housemaid; ushered in Mr. 
Brand. The blood rushed to her face, the book fell 
from her hands to the floor at her feet, as she rose and 
leaned agrinst the table for support. 

There was a strange glitter in Mr. Brand's eyes as 
he slowly entered the room and stood a second with 
his cane and hat in hand. 

‘‘Pardon me," he said, “for intruding on your privacy. 
It's not just the proper thing to come to a lady's room, 
but I found the parlor occupied by several persons, and 
it being a boarding-house, I thought it would not in the 
least compromise your good name. I had some busi- 
ness of importance to communicate to you concerning 
the estate, so as to prepare you before the court con- 
venes to-morrow morning." 

He took out his cambric handkerchief and coughed 
in it. 

“Be seated," said Eleanor, coldly, pointing to a chair, 
and then resumed her own. 

Jonas was completely metamorphosed. In his youth, 
there had been something of the dandy about him ; 
but since he had grown older, his clothes and their cut 
had become in life's busy battle a secondary consider- 
ation. But to-night he was dressed in the extreme of 
fashion. After he had finished the small matter of 
business he pretended to have made his errand, he 
arose to go. Eleanor, who had had little to say during 
the interview, rose also. He came nearer to her, bent 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 55 

forward and took her hand in his. She drew it from 
him and stepped back. 

^'Eleanor, Eleanor/’ he said/‘why feign this coldness? 
You cannot be indifferent to the love I have borne you 
all these years. Eleanor, throw aside your foolish 
prudish notions of propriety and what is called morality. 
Step aside and be free. Love like mine, Eleanor, is in 
itself a law that cuts asunder all conventionalities, and 
binds anew and makes a virtue of what the world holds 
as criminal. We can leave here and go far away — to 
England, France, or Italy, — wherever our fancy leads us. 
We can lose ourselves to all, and live for love and each 
other. The law in time will make me free ; then, then 
you will be mine, mine foiever.” 

Jonas was not a man of impulse. Indeed, every ad- 
vantage he had gained in life he had reached by slow, 
methodical steps. He watched every opportunity, like 
a cat that sits all day patiently waiting for a mouse, 
knowing well that mousey will sooner or later venture 
from its hole and be hers. So with Jonas. He never 
wearied of waiting when he could see any chance of 
capturing the prize in the end. The only thing that 
ever eluded or thwarted him was his love for Eleanor 
Stanhope. He was not by nature a passionate man, 
but he spoke the above in hot breathless gasps, his face 
a hideous pallor, so unlike its accustomed floridity. 

Eleanor had moved aside into the shadow of the room 
and stood, cold and trembling, like some black draped 
Psyche. Every word uttered by Jonas Brand had 
shocked, pained and wounded her to the heart and in- 


$6 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

suited her womanhood. This horrid passion was not 
the love she had known, with its beautiful tender face 
and compassionate glance, as warm as earth’s sunshine, 
and as far reaching as its light, whose white robes are 
studded with the jewels of the devoted, never-ceasing, 
self-sacrificing love of a mother for her child; its wings 
encrusted with the gems of the sacred patient, all-en- 
during love of husband and wife; and whose glistening 
girdle of amethyst and pearl is the love of youth and 
maiden, that comes to the heart as welcome as the dew 
to June roses, mellowing and sweetening all their after 
life, — a dream of Arcadia, of Elysian fields, a paradise 
of ‘‘two souls with but a single thought, two hearts 
that beat as one;” — and lastly, wearing upon its brow 
the diadem of the greatest of all loves, that living love 
which passes understanding, the divine flame that en- 
ters the heart of man or woman, and they leave father 
and mother, brother and sister, home and fortune, and 
go forth into the world to seek whom they may benefit 
by giving up their own life. “Greater love hath no 
man than this, that a man lay down his life for his 
friends.” This is the love that is the only road to hap- 
piness, to eternal life, — the Christ love. 

“Sir,” she said, with scorn flashing from her eyes, 
all the pity and friendship she had had for him in her 
heart leaving it, “this is not the language of love. 1 
know it in no such dress. The love that degrades and 
dishonors, seeks only the gratification of its own base 
desires, something to feed its unholy passion upon. 
Leave me, I beseech you. I will not suffer you to say 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 57 

another word.’^ She made a move to pass him, but he 
caught her hand again and held it with a grip of iron, 
so vise like, that she almost fainted from pain. 

‘‘Base?’’ he hissed rather than spoke. “Do you 
think love like mine can be base, the love I have cher- 
ished here in my breast for years, that has been faith- 
ful to but one woman, — and that woman you? ” 

“Your wife,” cried Eleanor, turning her face from 
him and trying to free herself from his grasp; “are you 
not bound to her by law, by honor, and by the sacred 
vows made to her at the altar, and by all these owe 
her some respect and fidelity? Is not this avowal of 
love cruel to her, and insulting to me? The woman 
that steps in and parts man and wife, is a thing ever 
afterward to be despised. Let me go, or 1 will call for 
help,” and bringing all her strength to bear, she 
wrenched her hand from his, rushed to the door, out 
into the hall and down the steps, leaving him standing 
alone. He picked up his cane and hat, and with a pale 
face and something of the sinister smile of a demon, 
followed after her. 

After this declaration of love began the persecution, 
as only a man can persecute a woman. She had placed 
every dollar that she owned in his hands. He was the 
executor of her husband’s estate. Meet him she must 
every little while on business, but she would bear things 
quietly until the law would compel him to make a set- 
tlement ; then she would put miles between him and 
herself. An open outbreak with him could not be 
thought of. She dreaded the suspicious lying tongues 


58 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

of the world, and they always fall the heavier on the 
weaker side. 

As the days went by, she found that her little room 
in Mrs. Williams^ boarding house was not the asylum of 
rest that she had expected to find it, a place where she 
would be free from the cares and expenses of a house. 
After the novelty had worn away, it became distaste- 
ful to her; the habits and ways of its inmates, the 
idle chatter of loud overdressed women who sat beside 
her at table, the insolent obtrusive men, all grated on 
her reserve and stung like needles pricking the tender 
flesh. She was essentially a home-loving woman, and 
she began to sicken and pine for its quiet and peace, 
its refinement and culture, its works of art, all from 
the hands of the finest masters, many of them her own 
personal friends, meeting them here and there in her 
travels and summer tours. Her library of favorite au- 
thors, the collection of nearly a lifetime ; these were 
all gone, slipped out and away from her, she could 
hardly tell how and why. The love and companion- 
ship of a husband now dead, (she never knew how 
kind, gentle and tender he was until she had laid him 
away). Go where she would, look where she might, 
she was alone — alone. She was like a maimed craft 
on a stormy, unknown sea, trying to find some port, 
some harbor of refuge whither to turn her bent and 
broken sails. 

So the weeks and the months went by. She took up 
her old studies and pursuits, but could find no rest in 
them. She tried to interest herself in some kind of work 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 59 

that would be beneficial to others, but the illness that 
had been creeping upon her for months she could ward 
off no longer. It came now in all its force to prevent. 
The fine-strung organization, the shattered nervous sys- 
tem all gave way under the strain and tension of grief, 
deceit and treachery. Then Jonas Brand was sent for, 
as some one had to settle her bills. His presence was 
obnoxious to her, but she was too sick to care. A nurse 
watched by her bedside for weeks — then one day she 
found herself in a private room in a hospital; from there 
she went to a supposed friend's house, and from there 

to Dr. D 's sanitarium. The reader has already 

learned from Eleanor's own words how she came to be 
placed in the asylum. 

Jonas Brand sat at his desk opening the morning 
mail. Several letters and many papers of a legal char- 
acter were scattered here and there before him. He 
picked up each letter separately and held it up before 
his right eye, so closely that it almost touched the rim 
of his glasses. When he had finished its perusal, he 
would lay it carefully in its respective place or pigeon 
hole. When he came to the last, which seemed to be 
a short note, he threw it lightly to one side, bent his 
head, twirled his thumbs, and thought a moment. 

‘‘Well, Jonas, it did not turn out just exactly as you 
would have liked," he said, leaning back in his chair 
and taking the half smoked cigar from his mouth, “but 
she's settled for a while any way. Eleanor Stanhope, 
your prospects are not very brilliant, and as for mar- 
riage with any man, that is at an end. You are mine. 


60 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

solely mine, and at my mercy. The world has forgotten 
you ere this, and if there is any inquiry made concern- 
ing you, I can simply say your mind is deranged. 

Dr, D ’s certificate protects me. All things come 

to those who wait. Jonas, you have not practiced law 
for thirty years, to be beaten in the most interesting 
case that you have ever handled, and the most inter- 
esting woman that ever figured in one.’’ He pushed 
his chair further out from the desk, tilted it back a lit- 
tle. relighted his cigar and began to smoke. ‘‘There 
isn’t so much money in it, — well, just enough to give 
zest to the pursuit. I never saw a woman so indifferent 
to her own interests, and she is no stupid either. A 
child don’t eat candy without some of it sticking to its 
fingers, and how it does enjoy licking them after it is 
all in its stomach. It’s just the way with money — after 
a man gets all he can into his pocket, he licks his fin- 
gers so that more may stick.” 

He leaned forward, twirled his white thumbs and 
chuckled to himself. 

“What a come-down to my proud beauty,” he went 
on, puffing away at his cigar, “with her high-bred airs 
and delicately toned sentiments — damn sentiment, it’s 
only fools that allow sentiment, in these days, to get 
away with them. Still she was hard to beat; she was 
the finest piece of flesh and blood 1 ever saw, even 
that day after she refused to become my wife, (he 
coughed here) knowing she was entirely in my power, 
that I had every dollar she possessed. As she stood 
there pouring out all the wrath and scorn she was mis* 


CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS OF US ALL. 6l 

tress of, and her eyes flashing contempt and hate into 
wine, by George, she was superb! 1 would have 
given all the world to have held her one moment in 
my arms. But what in the devil did she go and get 
sick for any way?” he said, squirming in his seat. 
“Now,” he went on with a wave of both hands, and 
bending himself almost double, “if she had been one 
of those thin, lean, lanky, nervous women, it would 
be another thing. But Eleanor Stanhope, with that 
fine physique of hers — her sickness must certainly be 
in her mind.” 

Mr. Brand’s face flushed. He removed the cigar from 
his mouth, shook the ashes from it and laid it on the 
edge of the desk, rose up and began to pace the floor. 

“Yes, as she sat there more like a dead than a living 
woman, talking of birds, and flowers, and other senti- 
mental nonsense; and when I chanced to look in her 
direction and her eyes met mine, my God, I felt like a 
dastardly cur! I could have wrung the neck of that 
damned rascal of a doctor. The worst of it is, when a 
man sets out to do a mean thing, he finds a hundred 
men to help him, religious institutions and all. What 
a plea for total depravity the Reverend Dr. Armitage 
would make out of this if he knew it, — however, total 
depravity and hell are gone out of fashion.” 

Ashe talked, he quickened his pace, sometimes turn- 
ing pale, then again the blood mounting to his temple 
and eyes, and almost bursting his cheeks. 

“Jonas, don’t be a fool, don’t weaken; you have 
accomplished all you set out to do — when she refused 


62 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

my love, it stirred up all that was mean and base in 
me. I believe the very prince of devils entered into 
me, and kept whispering revenge, revenge. That in- 
fernal doctor! Who would think that the dignified pro- 
fession could be approached so easily? I shuffled the 
cards ana he cut for deal; we skirmished around a lit- 
tle, he playing all the while into my hand. It is aston- 
ishing how two people will come to an understanding 
without scarcely a word spoken on the subject. Jonas, 
it was the nicest piece of work you ever did. Now, if 
I were a pious man, I would say the Lord was on my 
side, all through this affair. 

He coughed, cleared his throat and laughed low to 
himself. 

‘‘But if I had not caught that glance of hers I It was 
as accusing as if she had fired a bullet through my 
heart, and her eyes were bigger, and darker, and bright- 
er, than I had ever seen them. But what in the devil 
did she go and get sick for? DonT weaken, Jonas; 
don't be a fool. All is fair in love and war." 

He stopped pacing the floor, and sat down by his 
desk again and began sorting his papers. 

Mr. Brand, with all your by-play, all your soliloquiz- 
ing, it is evident that the last act in your drama is not 
just to your liking. Your conscience troubles you, for 
surely it “doth make cowards of us all." 


“A LITTLE LADY I KNEW. 


63 


99 


CHAPTER VII. 

“A LITTLE LADY I KNEW.” 

As Eleanor awoke, there was a key turned in the 
heavy lock, the door opened and the head of a woman 
thrust itself half way in, looked at Eleanor, gave a 
severe scowl, jerked her head back again in a frightened 
way, slammed the door and disappeared. About fifteen 
or twenty minutes later, the same woman returned 
with a tray in her hands. She sidled up along the wall 
to a little stand, which she drew up by the bedside and 
placed the tray upon it. 

“Good morning,” said Eleanor, whose nature was 
as genial as a sunny May-day. 

“Here’s your breakfast,” answered the girl, with a 
squint of her left eye, as she took a side glance at Ele- 
anor, and gave the stand a shove nearer the bed with 
her foot, all the while her left eye twitching and seem- 
ing to turn in her head, as she watched Eleanor’s face. 
Then she backed out of the room without saying a 
word. She was a tall, thin, large-boned, angular woman 
of nearly thirty years. Her face, unlike her body, was 
round, and had at the same time the flatness of a din- 
ner plate, and took its pink and rosy hue from hair of 
a dingy brickish red. Her eyes were small and of a 
cold pale blue, the lid of the left eye seeming to have 
a perpetual nervous twjtch, 


64 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

‘‘Gracious, how she scared me !'’ said Eleanor to her- 
self ; “yet she seemed more afraid of me, than I of her/' 

Eleanor sat up in bed, arranged her pillows as best 
she could, and took a survey of the breakfast before 
her. There were two thick slices of baker's bread, a 
small platter of chalky looking butter, a piece of flabby 
beefsteak, cut as thin as the blade of a knife and hardly 
warm enough to melt the little pieces of butter that 
were daubed over it here and there, looking like rows 
of white peas, and giving it a greasy appearance. In 
despair she felt the small pewter teapot ; it was hot to 
the touch. 

“Here is some hot tea," she said to herself, lifting 
the lid and taking a peep in. But she was disappointed 
when she saw that the pot contained coffee already 
prepared with milk. She was faint and weak — oh, so 
weak ! She would like something — she did not know 
what. She wished that girl would come back again. 
She must be the attendant that Miss Cameron spoke 
of last night. If she could only see Sister Beatrice, or 
some one to whom she could make her wants known ! 
She had plenty of means, and she was not going to bear 
with such bad treatment. 

“Oh, for a home," she thought, “if it were only an 
attic — and my own, where 1 could get something nicely 
and daintily cooked." She bent her head, buried her 
face in her thin, white hands, and when she raised her 
head again, her palms were wet with the great tears 
that had splashed from the well of her heart to her 
eyes, and coursed down her pale cheeks. 


LITTLE LADY I KNEW/' 6 $ 

She would try the coffee, she thought. She poured 
out about half a cupful and looked about the salver for 
sugar. 

“What is this?'’ she asked herself, picking up a small 
dish with a sprinkling of soggy brown sugar of the cheap- 
est kind. “Oh, dear me, did one ever see such horrid 
food? To serve such a meal to an invalid is, to say 
the least, inhuman." 

She drank half a cup of the coffee, and barely tasted 
of the bread. She had just finished her repast, when 
the girl who had brought in the breakfast made her 
appearance, and was going to take up the salver and 
rush out, when Eleanor said, “You are the attendant 
here, I suppose?" 

“Yes 'm," answered the girl, tightening her thin lips 
and shaking her head. 

“Your name, if you please," asked Eleanor. The 
woman gave her a menacing look, hesitated a moment 
and answered, “Melina," in a soft voice; for although 
of a ferocious aspect, a soft voice was the one virtue 
she possessed — if it could be called a virtue in one who 
used it so often for the most deceptive purposes. 

“Melina," said Eleanor, kindly but decidedly, ^‘1 wish 
to say something concerning my food — " 

“Oh, my! Yes," interrupted Melina, smiling insinu- 
atingly, and pushing the stand closer to the bed, as a 
barricade between herself and Eleanor. Melina was 
not yet sure of her patient. She might be one of those 

s 


66 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

violent ones that she talked so frequently about to Mrs. 
Stanhope in the weeks that followed. 

don’t drink coffee,” Eleanor continued. like 
tea better, and if you will just tell Sister Beatrice to 
give me a very small piece of steak, broiled without 
salt or pepper, 1 think I could eat that, though I prefer 
a little oatmeal and a cup of milk for my breakfast.” 

‘‘Oh my! Yes,” reiterated Melina, with a smile that 
made poor Eleanor shudder, as she rested the tray on 
one hip, and gave the rung of the chair that stood near 
her a slight kick, keeping her eyes all the while on Mrs. 
Stanhope. Then she took the tray in both hands, 
tossed her head and disappeared. 

“There’s no pleasing them insane people,” she mut- 
tered to herself, as she made long strides down the hall 
towards the dining-room. “It’s too terrible, the trouble 
they makes a girl. She’s another of them airy ones 
that’s no getting along with at home and had to be sent 
here to be controlled.” 

“What a strange being !” thought Eleanor, as she laid 
her head back on the pillow with a sigh. “She makes 
the cold chills run over me. I should not want to have 
her ill will ; she seems to me the very personification 
of spite.” 

A few moments later, the door opened softly, and 
Hannah Cameron entered with her mouse-like tread. 

“I have brought you some porridge,” she said, taking 
something white from under her apron and uncovering 
a napkin from a small saucer filled with oatmeal. “I 


‘‘A LITTLE LADY I KNEW/’ 67 

thought I heard you say you liked it ; it’s nice and hot, 
and 1 sprinkled over it some white sugar. It makes it 
more palatable. The milk gave out, but the morning’s 
milk will be in from the farm in a short while ; then I 
may be able to get you a glass. Try and eat the meal 
before Melina returns.” 

All this was said in a soft cooing voice, whose every 
breath was music to Eleanor’s ears ; and the kindness 
that shone in her face and beamed from her eyes, as 
Eleanor looked into them and took the saucer from her 
hand, stirred some of the dying embers of courage and 
hope to live again for at least a few hours. 

‘Mt is so thoughtful of you to bring me this meal. 
It is just what I have been asking Melina for. 1 wanted 
something to eat, but did not know exactly what.” 

‘‘We don’t always have it for breakfast — why, I do 
not know. It is not so expensive ; but 1 think it must 
be carelessness on the part of the cooks, for there must 
be plenty of it in the house,” returned Hannah, busy- 
ing herself about the room. 

How little Eleanor thought, as she relished each 
spoonful of the oatmeal, that it was part of Hannah 
Cameron's own breakfast; that the meal had been 
saved and sent up warm from the kitchen by a girl she 
had nursed when very ill, back to life, and who had 
conceived an undying love for Miss Cameron. She 
was a foolish, harmless person, who worked in the 
kitchen, and who understood in her own way how 
dainty Hannah was, and what a small portion she could 


68 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

eat of the poor half-cooked food that found its way t# 
the dining-room. Whenever she could, she showed 
her affection by saving and hiding away some little 
delicacy, until she found an opportunity to carry it to 
Hannah. Miss Cameron accepted from her all she 
could get in this way, never using it herself, but giving 
it to some one who happened not to be feeling well — 
some one whom she thought needed it more than she 
herself. At meal times she was to be found hovering 
about the dining-room, watching for the dishes to come 
from the kitchen, and would hurriedly pick out the best 
pieces of the meat for this one and that one, and place 
it on their plates before it grew cold. And those who 
knew not the morning meal from the noon, nor the 
noon meal from the evening, not even when they were 
hungry, she would go about and gather them into the 
dining-room, seat them at the table, spread the butter 
on their bread, fill their cups with the hot fragrant tea, 
and do all she could to induce them to eat, — all this 
would she do before a mouthful entered her own lips. 
She knew it was the duty of others to see that these 
poor women were cared for and fed, but like other re- 
sponsibilities they were shirked. 

Melina, who thought that ‘‘them insane people’’ 
knew not whether they ate bread or hay, and were 
born with stomachs not human or Christian, but pecu- 
liar to themslves, would say with a smile that was not 
pleasant to behold, “I puts the food on the table, lets 
them eat it or leave it, or lets Sister Beatrice, whose 


LITTLE LADY I KNEW.’’ 69 

place it is, come and see to them that eats it. I’ve my 
trays to carry to the rooms, an’ it’s none of Miss Cam- 
eron’s business. She meddles too much. She’s nothin’ 
but a patient anyways, an’ it’s locked in her room she 
ought to be, an’ will be if she keeps on.’' 

Hannah bore Melina’s hints and sneers meekly with- 
out a murmur, but they never retarded her from doing 
whatever her hands found to do. 

will take the saucer if you are through,” said 
Hannah, picking it up from the bed where Eleanor had 
laid it at her feet ; and folding the napkin over it, she 
hid it under her apron and left the room. 

Ever since Eleanor had awakened, there had been 
the same dreadful noises going on above her head — the 
same screeching, calling and incoherent babbling on the 
floor above her, that there had been the day before and 
throughout the night. In her own apartment there 
would have been more quiet, were it not for the hurry- 
ing to and fro and slamming of doors, and the same 
march up and down the hall — the tramp, tramp, of 
weary feet going and coming like caged animals, but 
always on the same straight line ; no side paths, nooks 
or corners, where tired feet or shattered minds might 
find relief. 

From the oriel window where the sun threw its soft 
rays on the old wooden benches that stood against the 
walls, and rested kindly on the faces of the few women 
that were strapped to them, to the upper door that was 
ever shut and locked, and for years had shut and locked 


70 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

out the last vestige of hope in many a sore heart, and 
they lived as in a living grave, until little by little rea- 
son waned, flickered and went out, or death came kindly 
to free the body, but had no power over the immortal 
soul. 

Eleanor had just raised herself in bed, when a ner- 
vous, hurried step that had been passing and repassing 
her door for nearly half an hour, stopped, and a face 
that was evidently French, peered in from behind the 
door. 

‘‘Madame zick?’’ it said in broken English, looking 
at Eleanor in a kind but wild sort of way. 

The face was round and pleasant, and her long iron- 
gray hair was combed back from her brow and fell down 
over her shoulders. She wore a sort of blue wool 
blouse waist with a white handkerchief pinned about 
her neck, and a short red and black petticoat. From 
her dress and healthy appearance, which seemed but 
little impaired from her long confinement, she looked 
every inch a French peasant woman, although she had 
not seen her native land since she was two years old. 

“What are you doing here?’^ said Hannah Cameron, 
entering with a glass of milk. “The poor lady is sick, 
Zozette.” 

z\ck^ pauvre madamey oui'^^ then she turned 
quickly, and went away. 

“What is the name of my visitor?’’ asked Eleanor, 
taking a sip of the milk. “It sounded to me rather 
chiCy and not unsuitable to the defiant jaunty air of the 
woman.” 


''A LITTLE LADY I KNEW/" 7 1 

have never known any name but ‘Zozette" given 
her since 1 came to the Institute, and as for her pecul- 
iar dress, that is the way she has of amusing herself. 
Perhaps in half an hour from now you will see her in 
an entirely different garb, her hair done up in the latest 
Parisian fashion and wearing a long trailing gown, and 
80 on all day — not appearing in the same costume more 
than an hour or two at a time.’^ 

‘‘How strange !’’ said Eleanor thoughtfully. 

“If you are here long enough, you will see stranger 
things than the fantastic dressing of poor Zozette.“ 
“You are so good,“ said Eleanor, handing Hannah 
back the glass after she had finished drinking the milk. 

“Wouldn't you like to sit up a while? I shall be only 
too glad to help you to rise if you are not strong enough, ' ' 
said Hannah, and she left the room. 

Soon she returned with a clean towel across her arm, 
a basin of cool fresh water in her hands and helped her 
to dress. When she had seated her in the old cane 
rocking-chair where she had spread a comforter, she 
began to unfasten the long braids of knotted hair. 

“Suppose I comb but one of these braids to-day. I 
fear it will tire you to do more. They are so heavy 
and are very much tangled,” said Hannah, as the light 
showed more vividly the pallor on Eleanor's face, and 
the blue drawn lines about the nose and mouth. 

“I think it is a good idea. It has been weeks since 
my hair has had a thorough combing,” returned Elea- 
nor faintly. “It would be a relief to cut the whole 


72 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

mass off, for the combing of it tires me, as it must do 
those who do the combing.” 

‘‘No, no! Do not ever say that again. You can ex- 
press yourself as you like to me, but be careful what 
you say before others. Don’t let Melina hear you 
speak about cutting off your hair ! She would be only 
too glad of the chance to deprive you of your beautiful 
crown, and she generally works to serve her own ends 
and to save labor for herself. Things are bad enough 
with you as it is, without cutting off your lovely hair. 
No, no ; that must not be thought of. In a little while 
you will be stronger ; then you can take care of it your- 
self,” said Miss Cameron, running her small white fin- 
gers up and down through the knotted and matted 
tresses. 

“My hair is anything but beautiful — it is only dark 
and thick, and long. Now if it had color like yours, I 
might be proud of it,” said Eleanor, looking at the 
head that bent close to hers, whose gold took a richer 
hue in contrast with the lustrous brownish-black of her 
own. 

‘‘We generally admire the opposite,” returned Han- 
nah, ‘‘and it is a good thing that we do,” and the little 
woman’s eyes sparkled with tears of sympathy for the 
sick Eleanor, as she traced lines of rare and noble beauty 
in the wan features, the graceful contour of the tall 
form, bent with grief and illness and grown old in the 
splendor of her youth. 

Hannah Cameron knew hothlng of Eleanor’s history, 
saving what little she had gleaned from Sister Beatrice, 


•"A LITTLE LADY I KNEW." 73 

that Mrs. Stanhope had no relatives, and had been very 
ill and was brought there by her “guardian," as Sister 
Beatrice termed Jonas Brand. She did not like to ask 
questions. She would probably learn from Mrs. Stan- 
hope herself something of her story and how she came 
to be incarcerated. But for the present, it was best to 
keep her mind as much as possible from her troubles. 
One could see that she had been very sick, and her 
case told of neglect, criminal indifference, responsibility 
shirked on the part of those whose duty it was to give 
her careful and gentle nursing. Her mind was clear 
and strong, as any one of common sense could see, but 
it was the old, old story of wrong, deceit, treachery, 
and every trust betrayed. She had seen so much of 
the depravity of human kind since she had been locked 
up in this cloister. Every day developed some phase 
of it, and it was generally money or some other of the 
lower passions that takes possession of men’s souls and 
hardens their hearts ; but chiefest of all was money — 
and all evils spring from the greed of that. Her cheek 
paled and her lips trembled as these thoughts passed 
through her mind, and she asked herself how any man, 
reared up in a Christian community, who had ever in 
his youth been taught the precepts of the Divine Mas- 
ter who gave us the golden rule, “You shall do unto 
others as you would that they should do unto you," 
could hurt this amiable and gentle lady, and incarcerate 
her ill as she is, in such a place as this. 

“But why wonder at it?" she said to herself. “Are 
there not others here like her, whose history would 


74 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

make the very sun darken, and the demons in hell hide 
their faces with shame?'’ 

And there shot a gleam from her eyes, that dried the 
moistened lashes, as she choked back a sigh and put 
these thoughts aside ; for she had long schooled her- 
self not to dwell on what she was powerless to avert, 
but to do all she could for those who needed her help. 

Eleanor lay back in her chiar, with her eyes closed. 
Hannah’s delicate fingers had not caught in one twisted 
strand of her hair. Her gentle touch had rather soothed 
than irritated the sick woman’s nerves, and she felt 
like a child falling asleep in its mother’s arms, with 
this small mouse-like creature about her. She soon 
lost herself, and the b?ack clad fragile form became the 
beautiful white-robed lady of her dream. There was 
the same youthful radiant face, the same lilies wreath- 
ing the shining gold hair, the same glistening garments, 
floating about her like a cloud woven of sunbeams. It 
appeared to Eleanor that Hannah was making her ready 
for some great feast, and was draping soft filmy lace 
around her shoulders, when she was awakened by her, 
saying, ‘‘You have had a nap,” and Hannah brushed 
a few stray rings from Eleanor’s brow. 

“I have been to fairy land,” said Eleanor. “A little 
lady I knew had just changed to a being with a face 
like an angel, when your voice called me back. 1 will 
tell you about her some time, and the dream 1 had con- 
cerning her last night.” 

‘'Perhaps you would like to sit up a little while 


LITTLE LADY ! KNEW/" 75 

longer/" said Hannah, turning to leave the room as 
Sister Beatrice and the doctor entered. 

‘‘Well, well, have you air enough?"" remarked the 
doctor, seeing Eleanor sitting by the open windo^’' and 
remembering hei complaint of the night before. 

“You should know best, you are the physician,'" 
replied Eleanor, with some of her old spirit, as she 
looked up into the doctor"s face. It expressed nothing 
but stolid indifference. “Sister Beatrice will tell you 
that I am not such a formidable person. I have not 
required the watching you thought necessary,"" added 
Eleanor faintly, but in a tone more hurt than resentful. 

Sister Beatrice blushed to her temples, dropped her 
eyelids, until the blue iris was hidden behind the soft 
veil of the long lashes. There was a little hardening 
about her mouth, as she caught a cold gleam in the 
doctor"s small eyes, as he turned to leave the room 
with her to go the usual morning rounds. 

There was quite a stir and commotion in the hall, as 
the doctor made his way through the rooms and down 
as far as the oriel window. He was on his way up and 
had almost reached Eleanor"s door again when he was 
stopped by a voice demanding in an authoritative tone, 
to be allowed to go home. The voice seemed to come 
from the opposite room, and spoke in strong, clear, and 
distinct tones, so that Eleanor could hear every word. 

“Why am 1 detained here a prisoner, kept locked 
up away from my children, my poor children that need 
my care?"" 


76 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

don’t keep you here,” answered the doctor, start- 
ing on. 

‘‘You shall listen to me!” cried the voice. “For 
weeks and months, I have kept strictly to every rule. 
I sit here with my door open, my window shut no mat- 
ter how warm the day. I never go to the bars to look 
out any more. I seldom move from my seat here by 
the door, where Sister Beatrice can see me every time 
she passes. When I walk, it is up and down in front 
of my room; 1 never speak to any one, or find fault, 
but it is all the same, — it is of no use, no use. When 
my daughter comes and I am taken like a criminal to 
the parlor to speak to her, I can see from her manner, 
she has been influenced in some way. Poor Laura 1 
What does a girl of seventeen know of the lies and de- 
ceit practiced to keep me in here? The word of these 
Sisters is the law with her. She would as soon think 
of God deceiving her, as one of these holy women. 
She cries, and cries, and when I demand of her the 
reason I am kept here a prisoner, she only cries all the 
more and says, ‘That it is not in her power to take me 
out of this wretched place.’ Then my heart hardens 
against her. — I am her mother, she owes me obedience, 
respect and filial affection. — Poor Laura! it is not her 
fault.” 

“You had a reputation to sustain, and your family 
placed you here to save it,” said the doctor, taking a 
step or two forward, and putting Sister Beatrice be- 
tween himself and the woman. 


“A LITTLE LADY I KNEW/' 

A man of finer fibre would not have made this 
speech. But delicacy and sympathy were qualities 
unknown in the doctor^s composition, so he used this 
coarse thrust to rid himself of the petitions with which 
she persistently assailed him every morning, when he 
came to make his calls. 

‘‘Reputation.? My reputation.?" she reiterated with 
passionate vehemence. “How dare you, sir ! Because 
I wished to marry again, because I was silly enough to 
fall in love. Oh, yes ! It was a foolish thing — a dread- 
ful thing, and it has ruined my whole life." Her voice 
now lost its high pitch and softened to pathos. “It has 
given those who wanted control of my property and 
my husband's business, an excuse to make me out in- 
sane and lock me in here. Not satisfied with their 
work, they even take my children from me. My 
poor children ! There are Bessie, Lizzie and dear little 
Willie, who need a mother's care. Doctor, you must 
unlock that door, and let me go home to my children," 
she cried, pointing to the door that led to the central 
hall. “I will give up every thing, sign over every righV 
I have in the business, if you will but unlock the door 
for me," she called after the doctor, who had reached 
the upper door, which Sister Beatrice closed and locked 
as he passed through. 

“Let me go home to my children !" she began again, 
accosting Sister Beatrice, as she passed on her way 
down the hall. “You know well enough I am not in- 
sane ! But I shall go mad if 1 am kept here a prisoner 
much longer; yes, I will go mad, wild, crazy." 


78 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

‘'Go to your room,^’ said Sister Beatrice, sternly, 
without stopping. 

Eleanor’s door stood half way open, and she pushed 
her chair further back towards the wall. This gave 
her a glimpse of the woman, standing in the doorway 
of her room, which was directly opposite Eleanor’s. 
She was tall, with something of a high-bred air. The 
face was pleasant and womanly, but the horror of her 
imprisonment, the hatred of her uncongenial surround- 
ings, the loss of liberty and the abject submission which 
was forced upon her, the more she fought for that lib- 
erty, was like gall and wormwood to a nature some- 
what arrogant and dictatorial, and whose position in 
life had commanded respect. And that “hope deferred 
which maketh the heart sick,” caused deep hollows in 
her cheeks, and sunken lines about the mouth and across 
the brow, and gave the eyes a startled, frightened ex- 
pression, which grew, as she sat in the doorway of her 
room day after day, with hands folded, suspense gnaw- 
ing at her heart ; no aim, no occupation, no thought 
but the one — Freedom, and how to gain it. All this 
preyed on and harassed a mind that had little religion, 
less faith, and no philosophy to rest on ; a mind which, 
even at its best, was not given to weigh and measure 
things — indeed hardly to think at all, only so far as de- 
manded by the daily wants of her household and her 
children, and the small happenings of the upper world 
in which she lived. 

“Oh, my children! My children!” shef moaned, wring- 


LITTLE LADY I KNEW.” 79 

ing her hands. ‘‘There is no use, no use trying any- 
thing. I shall never leave here alive.” 

“Mrs. Milford, try to calm yourself, dear,” said a 
gentle voice. “God sees all, and He will unfasten all 
bars and locks in His own good time. Try to be patient; 
ask God to give you patience. St. Theresa says, ‘Pa- 
tience outweareth all things.' ” 

“It is very nice in you. Miss Cameron, but I cannot 
feel as you do. To be like you, I would have to be 
born again. You have never been a mother. If you 
had ever been a mother, you would feel differently. 
Oh! Ohl Oh!” 

“Go to your room! You are annoying the whole 
hall!” said Sister Beatrice as she came up with Melina. 

There was a slight scufifle, the door closed, the key 
turned in the lock outside. Hannah had slipped away 
unseen. She knew that her own punishment would 
have been similar had she interfered. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY.? 

“This place is the mouth of hell, or hell itself,” 
thought Eleanor, trembling all over as she slowly rose 
from her seat. 

It was but a step from the chair to the bed. She 
reached over, took hold of the post, and drew herself 
to its side and sat down for a moment. 

“Oh, it is a fearful place — why, nerves of iron or 


80 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

steel would break down in a short while at the sight of 
so much suffering. I am not the only one then brought 
here sane. Here is this woman and Miss Cameron — but 
1 have not yet learned what Miss Cameron’s position 
is, whether she is a patient, or one of those ladies who, 
while they have no desire to join the sisterhood, like 
the retirement and seclusion of a religious institution, 
yet are not debarred from personal liberty. It can’t be 
possible she is a patient, for it struck me she has been 
here for years. Oh, can it be that the world is so 
wicked?” she exclaimed, folding her hands. ‘‘This 
world I thought so beautiful, with its blue skies and 
fair sailing clouds, crowned by day with the glory of 
the sun, and at night by the splendor of the moon and 
stars. How my heart has swelled within me, and my 
soul been filled with delight, as 1 walked in country 
roads, sniffing the scent of the wild flowers that grew 
by the wayside, and felt the sweet breath of the morn- 
ing winds cool against my cheeks as they stole from 
across green meadows and fields lying in the distance. 
It had its dark side I knew, but I never dreamed it 
could be as black as this; that our flag, whose insignia 
is freedom, equality and religious liberty, could be a 
mockery; or that it floated over institutions for the im- 
prisonment for life of innocent men and women, because 
relatives or pretended friends wished them out of the 
way to gratify their own selfish ends. Ever since the 
beginning of the world, men have fought, bled and died 
for liberty. They have left homes, wives and children, 
and everything that was nearest and dearest to them, 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 8l 

to lay down their lives for that one word, FREEDOM, 
and all it meant. Men have followed its banner hun- 
gry, cold, and barefoot, through rain, sleet and snow, 
and the smoke of battle; it has been the one incentive 
that has led armies to victory. It is but a few years 
ago, since our own nation shook with war from its cen- 
ter to the sea, and men from the North went down to 
the bayous and swamps of the South, to meet their own 
kith and kin, and stood face to face with their brothers 
in battle, for the purpose of wiping out forever that one 
blot on our country’s escutcheon — ‘Slavery.’ The 
greatest of all sacrifices, the one on Calvary, was for 
freedom. St. Paul says, “Christ died to free the soul 
from the thraldom of sin.'’ 

“Oh, my country!” she cried within herself, as she 
clutched the bed post and tried to rise to her feet, “the 
land the Bible speaks of as flowing with milk and honey, 
— the new Jerusalem, the new Canaan — gift of God to 
His people, where all the down trodden of the earth 
can find refuge on your shores, hast thou allowed the 
iron hand of despotim to creep in and rear these prisons 
while thy people have slept, drugged and opiated by 
the excess of riches and luxury?” 

“Ah, yes! 1 see it all now. Jonas Brand placed me 
here to die. Partially through revenge, and to get pos- 
session of my money. He ha^ every dollar of it, and 
also my papers and securities. I can get word to no 
friend from here. If I die there is no one to ask a word 
concerning my end. Jonas Brand can keep me here 
6 


82 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

as long as he pays for me. Oh! Oh! What a villain! 
What right had he to incarcerate my body here.^* Oh! 
How dreadfully slack our laws in regard to insane per- 
sons m.ust be!'' she cried, laying her head back on the 
pillow exhausted. 

She had raised herself again and was leaning on her 
elbow, with one hand reaching out for the comforter, 
when there came a knock at the door. 

‘‘How are you feeling?" asked a lady, entering, and 
two bright dark eyes looked down on Eleanor, and two 
small, white, dimpled hands reached out for the comfor- 
ter, lifted it from the chair and spread it over her and 
tucked it in about her; then she sat down on the side 
of the bed at Eleanor's feet. 

She was of medium height, her figure slender, but of 
rounded symmetrical lines, and would have been in- 
clined to fullness, if it were not for a certain ailment of 
the stomach, which her confinement rather increased 
than mitigated; as it was, she was very thin. Her dark 
hair was threaded with silver, and its heavy braids, 
coiled high on the back of her head, and little short curls 
softened and gave breadth to a rather high narrow fore- 
head. The rest of the features were small and delicate, 
and her bright black eyes and dark eyebrows gave a 
clear hue to her pale swarthy cheeks. 

“Miss Cameron told me that you rested well last 
night," she said, running her fingers up and down an 
ivory rosary that was fastened in a button hole of the 
neck of her black dress and hung down like a chain of 
pearls to her waist, its heavy jet and gold crucifix touch- 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 83 

ing the point of her bodice. ‘'Of course you heard the 
noise and commotion in the hall a few moments ago. 
It must have upset you; — it always does me. I feel as 
if 1 wanted to fly or take the doctor by the collar of the 
coat and pitch him out of the window, or do something 
desperate, when Mrs. Milford begins. She knows it 
won’t do one bit of good. She has been at that kind 
of thing for the last year, and she can keep it up for 
the next twenty, but it will never take her out. Miss 
Cameron says, ‘Humility, serenity and prayer are the 
keys that will sooner or later open the door.’ Bah! I 
say dumbfidity, stupidity, imbecility, and your family 
and relations refusing to pay for you, that is what will 
open the door quicker than anything else.” 

Her eyes shone and her nostrils dilated as she dang- 
led the crucifix in her hand. 

“It is a crying injustice to keep in this place any one 
who is in her right mind. All that woman said was 
sensible and logical, and showed all the feelings of a 
mother torn from her children. Her appeal to the doc- 
tor and Sister Beatrice was pitiful to hear, and it is in- 
human not to release her,” said Eleanor, rising to a 
sitting position and resting her face on her hands. 
“Why do they keep her here?” she cried. 

Mrs. Linton shrugged her shoulders, and her lips half 
parted with a smile. 

“Why do they keep her here? Well, that is a con- 
undrum. But if I were to answer you, I would say for 
the same reason that they keep me here, that they 
keep Miss Cameron here and that will keep you here, 


84 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

unless your family, or whoever placed you here, will 
take you out. This is the rule; those that put you in, 
must take you outy 

‘‘Do you mean,” said Eleanor, her brow contracting 
with pain at the thought, “that that is the law of the 
State in regard to insane persons, or that it is the law 
of this Institution?” 

“Bah, the law of the Institution! The law of the 
State doesnT interfere much with Institutions of this 
kind.” 

“It is a most terrible temptation to place so much 
power in the hands of the individual, giving to one the 
whole control, right and title to another's liberty; to be 
kept a prisoner as long as they see fit. Why, even a 
felon has the benefit of the law before he is condemned.” 

“It is their rule, that the man that put you in here 
must take you out, unless you can invent some way to 
escape that we have not thought of. You see, my dear,” 
and Mrs. Linton bent her head and placed her face close 
to Eleanor's. The action carried with it a whole vol- 
ume of meaning. “You are a widow with money to 
back you, of course.” 

“I am alone; I have not a relative in the world. My 
grandmother, who raised me, died a few days after my 
marriage to my husband, Mr. Stanhope, and the friends 
I had have dropped off one by one since my illness, as 
most friends do when trouble comes,” answered Elea* 
nor. 

“You are better off without relatives, friends, or chil- 
dren,” said Mrs. Linton fiercely, her eyes snapping, 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 85 

and biting her upper lip until it seemed to Eleanor she 
would draw blood. 

“But I can’t understand how you and Miss Cameron, 
and Mrs. Milford (1 believe that is the name) were in- 
duced to come here, because they and you have your 
senses and were physically well. It was very different 
with me. 1 am sick and have been very ill for a long 
time. Besides, I was deceived. My lawyer told me he 
was taking me to the city, where it would be more con- 
venient for him to see to my affairs and to attend to my 
personal wants; and that he had, as 1 desired him to do, 
rented me a cottage in the suburbs, where I could have 
fresh air and a nurse to attend me. When the carriage 
stopped before this great building, I was told it was a 
hospital , that I was to remain here but a few days, un- 
til the cottage was gotten ready for me. But as soon 
as I found myself in this hall and saw the strange look 
of the women sitting around on the benches, and caught 
sight of that idiot girl, it dawned upon me where 1 was. 
Then 1 knew no more for some time. I never dreamed 
for a moment of being incarcerated in an insane asy- 
lum,” said Eleanor, the tears blinding her eyes. 

“1 am three thousand miles from home,” said Mrs. 
Linton, “brought here by my son, deceived in every 
way as regards the character of the place. 1 have — well, 
my physician at home said it was a sort of gas,” (she 
pronounced it “gaus”) “that rises on my stomach and 
goes to my head, and 1 become unconscious for a few 
moments. 1 used to have the attacks every three or four 
months, but they are more frequent now, coming every 


86 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

two or three weeks since my confinement here. They 
last but a few moments, leaving no after-effects but a sort 
of drowsiness. Sometimes I sleep for an hour or so 
after one of them. 

‘‘I had been very ill. They told me I was going to 
die. 1 had my will already made, dividing my prop- 
erty equally between my daughter and son. My daugh- 
ter and her husband were living with me at the time. 
My daughter did not marry to suit me — still, there was 
never a word of discord between her husband and my- 
self. She knew the contents of the will. I had left 
my beautiful home and all it contained to her. When 
I say all it contained, it means a great deal, for my 
husband had spared no money in building and furnish- 
ing our home and making it elegant and luxurious. 
We were not so well off when he died, but he made 
me sole possessor of all his worldly goods. By care 
and economy I managed to rear and educate my chil- 
dren without having to part with my home. My silver, 
of which I had a great quantity, and every piece of it 
solid, I gave to my daughter. 

“One morning, she came to my room and told me that 
the doctor said that I could not recover, and as long as 
the home was going to be hers, I had better sign it over 
to her then, and save the long delay and cost of the 
probate court. 1 thought myself that it was impossible 
for me to live, so I sent for my attorney and had the 
papers made out, conveying to her her share and my 
son’s to him also. My attorney said it was a risky 
thing to do, but as long as 1 was rational and of sound 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 87 

mind, he had nothing to say. My property when di- 
vided, netted them about twenty thousand dollars 
apiece. When I recovered from that illness, it left me 
subject to these spells. I spent one winter with my 
daughter. The home that I loved, that 1 had so recently 
been sole mistress of, was mine no longer; my son-in- 
law was master there. 

‘‘My daughter meant to be kind to me, but she was 
like dough in her husband^s hands. Day by day she 
grew more and more estranged, little by little 1 was 
given to understand, that if I wished to live with them, 
I must keep to my own room. I bore with it until the 
spring, then I rented a few furnished rooms in an apart- 
ment house, depending on my children to pay my ex- 
penses — I had given them all 1 had. But this mode of 
life did not suit them; my son was opposed to my living 
in that way. He argued that I could not live alone, on 
account of these spells. I always thought that when 
1 grew old, I would like to go into a religious home, but 
where I could have my personal liberty. One day my 
son came to see me, — my physician had called the 
evening before. He thought a change of climate would 
be beneficial — some temperate climate like this. Indeed, 
he urged it, and his parting words were, ‘The sooner 
you go, the better.’ My son informed me that he had 
heard of this place; that a gentleman friend had told 
him of a young man, afflicted in the same way, who 
had been cured here; that it was a religious house, a 
kind of sanitarium kept by the Sisters of Charity. 
That was all I could learn concerning it. 


88 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW." 

‘‘We arrived here at night. I was shown to my room, 
and the next morning I discovered where I was. IViy 
son was to call again before he left for home — 1 have 
never seen him since!’’ 

Here her voice died away to a whisper, and the mois- 
ture that had gathered in her eyes obscured their bright- 
ness and softened them to tears. 

“Weeks passed,” she continued, weeping. “No an- 
swer came to my letters, and one day I happened to 
think that when I was at school at G — City Convent 
(I am a graduate of that famous convent), all our letters 
to friends and parents were read before being mailed ; 
the answers also came to us opened. I then wrote a 
short epistle to my son, simply saying I was well, and 
hoped he was the same. I made no comments on this 
or that. A few weeks after I sent this letter, I received 
one from my son, saying he was glad to hear from his 
dear mother, and it did him good to know I was happy 
and liked my home, and so forth and so on. It is nearly 
two years since the first evening I stepped inside these 
walls, and I have never been in all that time the recip- 
ient of one line from my daughter. 

“At times, the thought that I must spend all the rest 
of my life shut up in this place nearly drives me mad. 
I wish 1 could die. If it were not tor prayer, I would 
be driven clear out of my senses. All one can do is to 
pray, — it is one's only consolation.” 

Eleanor was staggered and almost paralyzed at what 
she heard. How could she hope for mercy from Jonas 
Brand, when children betrayed their own mother for 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 8g 

the sake of gain, and locked her up in a mad-house? 
It was an outrage crying to heaven for vengeance. 
But she mastered her feelings and said sympathizingly: 

“You must be patient, dear Mrs, Linton, and hope 
for the best. Try and think of nothing but how to get 
better; then your son will come and take you home. 
Miss Cameron’s advice impressed me deeply. Almost 
the first words she said to me were, not to worry.” 

Mrs. Linton bit her lips, unfastened the rosary from 
its button at the neck of her dress. Her eyes were 
dry and snapped as she bent over and whispered in 
Eleanor's ear, “My son will never take me out. Even 
if 1 recovered from these spells he would find some ex- 
cuse to keep me here. 1 suppose there were a few 
comments among my friends, after 1 disappeared, but 
they were easily silenced by simply saying I had gone 
South for the winter. By this time 1 am forgotten, my 
sister and relatives are reconciled, my son and daugh- 
ter have told them a plausible story; — I have no chance 
to tell mine, I must leave you now, as Sister Beatrice 
will soon be passing on her way to dinner and 1 must 
not be seen talking to you,” she said, rising and going 
as far as the door; then turning she added, “Say noth- 
ing about this to Miss Cameron. Mum’s the word. I 
have a decade of beads to finish before the bell rings 
for dinner. I will say one for you. I am afraid I have 
talked too much to you,” and she tripped out. 

“Oh! if 1 were only strong!” said Eleanor, lying 
back on her pillow, “Oh! my God, Thou a!one canst 
heal me. All things are possible with Thee.” 


go JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

She heard Mrs. Linton’s light trip, trip, and patter, 
patter, up and down the hall. She remembered now 
it was the same footstep that made such an impression 
on her when she came to her senses after her long faint. 
In a few moments Mrs. Linton made her appearance 
again. She held her rosary in both hands, grasping a 
bead between her forefingers. There was an air of 
great mystery about her as she stooped over Eleanor 
and said in a voice scarcely above a breath: 

“Don’t worry. Do not let anything I have told you 
disturb you, but be as calm and quiet as possible. Try 
to rest all you can and get better. All this talk about 
self-sacrifice and that sort of thing, is the merest stuff. 
Did I not give up the best part of my life to my chil- 
dren? I was scarcely thirty when their father died. 
Their comfort, their welfare and happiness, was all 1 
thought of. Have I not left myself penniless for them? 
and here is where they have landed me, on this barren 
rock. If it were a lonely island where one could roam 
around at one’s own free will, it would not be so bad. 
But to fasten me up in this purgatory — for it is a pur- 
gatory on earth inflicted upon me for rearing them up 
in selfishness. — Don’t worry now, buttry torest. Mum’s 
the word.” She placed her forefinger on her mouth. 
“Mum’s the word,” she reiterated, and went out lisp- 
ing her rosary. 

“I am having quite a reception,”’ thought Eleanor 
to herself, and she smiled wearily. “Let me see, this 
is the third caller I have had this morning. I wonder 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? QI 

how many more I shall have before the day closes. 
Well, I cannot stand much more of it.’’ 

It was not long until the Convent bell rang for half- 
past eleven, the Sisters’ dinner hour. A few moments 
later. Sister Beatrice, passing on her way to the dining- 
room, and seeing Eleanor’s door closed, stopped, pushed 
it open, looked in, smiled faintly and then walked away. 
Eleanor had yet to learn that Sister Beatrice must hear, 
see and know all that went on in her department. She 
belonged to a system of espionage, not equalled any- 
where outside of Catholic Institutions. The Secret 
Service has no detectives superior to those pale, mild- 
faced, gentle-mannered Sisters. Eleanor could have 
no privacy, no secrets from her. Her vigilance never 
ceased. She was ever on the watch for anything that 
might develop itself. 

Sister Beatrice had her monthly reports to make. 
Eleanor was there under the ban of insanity, and she 
must be treated accordingly. Sister Beatrice closed her 
eyes to many things that she should have seen and jot- 
ted down in her monthly record. There were many 
things she could not help. There were many more 
she could have remedied, but she was no reformer. 
She was not a woman of ideas, but of feelings. To ask 
for what was considered too much by her superiors, 
meant punishment ; to be too critical, meant a year’s 
banishment to some other institution. She had no 
voice, no will of her own. Obedience was one of her 
vows, repression her safeguard. Whatever enthusiasm 
or desire for self-sacrifico, love for humanity or for 


92 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

spiritual growth she carried with her when she entered 
the sisterhood in her many years of life there, had lit- 
tle by little become deadened and sapped from her blood 
and bones. She had grown hardened to that with 
which she had to come in daily contact. What few 
grains of religious ardor she had left were her only sol- 
ace from the weariness from which she suffered. 

At the first tap of the Angelus, there was a call for 
dinner from one of the women below. Miss Cameron 
was sitting beside little Bettie Jennings, the idiot girl 
and the baby of the place, and who was not without 
some ray of intelligence, for she was gurgling and 
laughing and kicking her poor twisted limbs almost out 
of her chair, as if she understood every word Miss Cam- 
eron was saying. She had been cross all the morning. 
It was the only way she had of letting them know she 
was not well. She always had a smile for Hannah 
though, who had a way of bringing her sundry pieces 
of broken cake and candy, or an orange once in a while. 
When Miss Cameron left her, she set up a loud cry in 
her own fashion, a way she had of calling her back. 

Melina was in the dining-room preparing the trays 
for the ladies who ate their meals in their rooms. Miss 
Cameron began in her quiet way taking the food off 
the dumb waiter and placing it on the table, but she 
kept her eyes on Melina, who was dishing out the same 
food and the same quantity for each tray. 

‘‘Melina,’’ said Miss Cameron timidly, “here is a nice 
lean piece of the mutton 1 picked out of the stew. I 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 93 

will put it on Mrs. Stanhope's tray, she is very delicate 
and I really am afraid she won't taste even this." 

Melina stood still, dropped the plate she held in her 
hand on her table, and looked down on Miss Cameron 
as if she would annihilate her on the spot. 

haven't no orders to give her anything different 
from the rest of the ladies. I hopes you're not goin' to 
be a pamperin' her, and be makin' a pet other. If you 
does, it's worse for yourself. She'll have to eat what's 
given her, till I gets further orders from Sister Beatrice," 

She picked up a tray and left the dining-room. Han- 
nah shrank within herself, for she knew her only 
weapon in dealing with Melina was silence. To appeal 
to her for any aid in doing an extra little kindness for 
patients was to bring down vengeance on her own head, 
and those she would serve. 

In a few moments, Eleanor's door was pushed back, 
and Melina entered with the tray. 

‘‘You brought me something nice for dinner, Melina, 
1 am sure you did; the breakfast was so poor," said 
Eleanor coaxingly, as Melina drew up the stand before 
the bed and placed the tray upon it. 

“Oh, my! Yes," she answered with her usual smile, 
backing up towards the window. “I brought you a 
little of everything sent up from the kitchen; I never 
slights one more than another." 

She took two or three steps forward, looked at Elea- 
nor, and swept out of the room, muttering to herself, 
‘‘You eats it or leaves it, it's all the same to me." 


94 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

Eleanor sighed as she took a survey of the food be- 
fore her. It was not lacking in quantity, if that was an 
item. The quality was not what would tempt a sick 
woman’s appetite. There was a heaping dish of black 
looking mashed potatoes, with various lumps sticking 
out here and there, two large slices of baker’s bread, 
two little chunks of fat mutton with very greasy gravy 
over them and smelling quite strong of onions, a pot of 
tea and a large saucer of bread pudding. Eleanor drank 
a cup of the tea and tasted of the potatoes, — they were 
odious with bad butter and salt. 

‘‘I am not going to bear this,” she said, taking a piece 
of the bread and trying to swallow it with a little tea. 
“1 am making a desperate fight for life, and I expect I 
must do the same for something I can eat. If it were 
not for Miss Cameron, I would have had to go without 
any breakfast this morning. In all my life I have never 
known before what it was to be hungry. Unappeased 
hunger must be a dreadful thing. It gives one some 
idea of what brought about the French Revolution, — 
years of oppression and starvation was what made the 
people so wild and ferocious. It is different with me, 
though, 1 am like the man at sea, when the fresh wa- 
ter gave out, it was water, water, all around, and not 
a drop to drink; here it is food, food, and heaps of it, 
and not a bite to eat. Oh, dear! I hope some one will 
come to my rescue.” 

Eleanor lay back, covered her face with her hands 
and sighed, as Melina re-entered the room. 


HOW COULD SHE HOPE FOR MERCY? 95 

“Melina,” said Eleanor, rising and looking her full in 
the face as Meiina picked up the tray and was making 
a dart for the door. 

“Ma’am,” she answered, letting the tray drop on 
the stand, for the sight of the untouched food roused 
her to anger. 

“1 could not eat a mouthful of that food, even if I 
were ever so hungry, it would kill me. 1 would like a 
little piece of broiled beefsteak and a baked or boiled 
potato; I would prefer it baked. I can afford to have 
it, and I must have it or die for the want of nourish- 
ment.” 

“Oh, my! Yes, — of course. But ye see I hadn’t no 
orders to give you steak. You must ask Sister Beat- 
rice,” replied Melina in a subdued voice. 

“Suppose you tell Sister Beatrice, or send her to me. 
I cannot very well go to her,” said Eleanor, and as she 
spoke Sister Beatrice entered. 

“Sister Beatrice,” said Melina with a smile that made 
Eleanor shudder, it was so maliciously insinuating, 
“this lady can’t eat no meat but steak; you’ll have to 
give orders for steak.” 

“Why, what is the matter with this food?” inquired 
Sister Beatrice, taking in the contents of the tray from 
under her sleepy eyelids. 

“The matter is, dear Sister Beatrice,” returned 
Eleanor, “that 1 cannot eat it. It will take a stronger 
stomach than mine to manage food like that. I would 
like a small piece of broiled steak and a baked potato, 
I must have something I can eat,” 


96 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

will see,’’ said Sister Beatrice, blushing and leav- 
ing the room. 

About half an hour later Melina returned with a piece 
of broiled steak, a boiled potato and a hot pot of tea. 

“It’s too terrible the way the cooks in the kitchen 
does, there’s no getting anything done for sick people. 
I had to cook this steak myself,” said Melina, her whole 
manner changed to a cringing servility. “The ladies 
think I can get this and that, or the other for them, 
and they lays the blame on me if I don’t, when I can’t 
do nothing without orders. I’ve got so much work to 
do, Mrs. Stanhope, and that Fanny, — she’s my assist- 
ant here, does nothing. Sister Beatrice and Miss Cam- 
eron expects me to be here and there, an’ have eyes 
in the back o’ my head, watching them insane people 
for fear they will kill themselves, an’ there’s my own 
life in danger. You never knows when one of them 
insane people will break out and tear you to pieces. 
It’s too terrible, Mrs. Stanhope, what Sister Beatrice 
an’ Miss Cameron expects me to do.” She lowered 
her voice, and becoming quite confidential, she contin- 
ued, “Now Sister Beatrice an’ Miss Cameron, if they 
gets a blow in their eye, or have an arm or a leg bro- 
ken, it’s not so bad, for they can lay up. But you see 
I’m a poor girl, and has nothing but what I earns. It’s 
too terrible what I have to put up with.” 

“If you are kind to these poor women, they will not 
hurt you, Melina. I understand there are few if any 
in this hall that are violent. You must be good to them, 


MRS. GERALDUS. 97 

and take them gently and kindly, and I am sure they 
will never harm you,’’ said Eleanor. 

Melina drew herself up, stepped back a pace or two, 
cast a withering glance at Eleanor, and went out mut- 
tering to herself as she crossed the hall to a patient’s 
room. ‘They say she has got her mind; but it shows 
she hasn^ to talk that way about them insane.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

MRS. GERALDUS. 

The steak was not as tender as it might have been, 
but Eleanor relished the small piece she ate. This, 
with half of the potato and a cup of tea, constituted 
her dinner. When she had finished she lay down on 
the bed and fell into a restful, half-wakeful, dreamy 
slumber. How long she slept she knew not, but it 
must have been an hour or two. She lay in the same 
state of repose for another half hour or so, when she 
thought she would rise and sit up for the rest of the 
afternoon. She had just seated herself and was wrap- 
ping the comforter about her feet and limbs as best she 
could, when there came a faint knock at the door, 
which stood partially ajar. 

“I hope I am not intruding,” said a slender, petite 
figure, that glided, rather than walked, into the room. 
“I hear you have been very ill, and the wretches be- 
f'^iyed you and fetched you here,” she said, seating 

7 


98 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAV/, 

herself on a chair that stood beside the wash stand. 
“A charming place to fetch a convalescent. Yes, in- 
deed, a really delightful place to recuperate,’^ she ad- 
ded, placing a lorgnette on the tip of a retousse nose and 
scanning Eleanor from behind it. 

She was clad in a robe of dark blue cashmere that 
swept back on the floor in a long train; at the bottom 
was a flounce some half a yard in depth, of rare black 
lace, gathered on clear around the skirt. It was very 
much worn, and close observation showed it to be full 
of holes and ravelled places. About her shoulders was 
a black silk cape, trimmed with a deep ruffle of the 
same costly lace. It was ripped here and there, and 
hung in ragged festoons from the silk. Every bit of 
her clothing was of the finest fabric, but seemed to be 
falling to pieces, more from the want of a needle and 
thread than from age or wear. Her head was small 
and of classic contour, and the black at her throat gave 
contrast to the soft white hair, that seemed like sea- 
foam, catching golden tints from the sun. It was coiled 
in an oblong knot at the nape of her neck, and fell in 
fleecy curls upon a broad low brow. Her eyes were of a 
grayish brown, their tints varying with the changing 
of her moods. The fair skin had grown sallow, and 
the oval cheeks hollow, but the pouting mouth and 
pointed chin still retained much of their youthful piqu- 
ancy. 

She had all the elegance and polish of manner, com- 
bined with the melodious liquid speech of the old Ken- 
tucky families, and the exclusive upper world which 


MRS. GERALDUS. 


99 

she had been born into some thirty-five years before, 
and graced since she was eighteen, until fortune frown- 
ed upon her, and death came, taking parents, husband 
and child. She was left, however, the mistress of a 
large fortune which was divided between herself and 
her only daughter. 

This daughter, at the age of fourteen, sickened and 
died, and she was never the same after the loss of the 
girl, and suffered for a while from slight attacks of 
aberration of mind. Her friends and relatives (our 
friends and relatives are always so kind to us under 
these circumstances) thought it best to have her sent 
where she would be well cared for, and cured if possi- 
ble. So there was much pretended preparation for an 
extensive trip on the continent. Her physician urged it. 

One day she and her maid and a lady friend were 
driven to the depot; her only sister could not accom- 
pany her as she could not at that time leave her young 
family. One evening, just at dusk, they arrived at the 
institution, and she was told they would remain there 
over night. The following morning the maid and the 
lady friend had vanished. Four years had gone by, 
and she had never seen the face of a soul belonging 
to her. 

‘‘You are not intruding, and if is very kind of you to 
think of me,’^ replied Eleanor, with a feeling of affinity 
for her visitor, as she took in the whole ensemble of her 
person and attire, seeing in her a woman something 
akin to herself, to whose world she had belonged. She 
had tarried a few years among its votaries before her 


LofC. 


100 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

marriage, giving herself up to its pleasures. Then after 
her marriage, she had lived for a while in its whirl and 
buzz, till becoming tired, she went back to the quiet of 
her home, her more thoughtful pursuits, her weekly 
reunions of old friends, only to appear a few times dur- 
ing the season at fashionable gatherings. Eleanor had 
met many of Mrs. Geraldus' kind in the full sway of 
their social triumphs, and her large heart, ever ready 
to forget her own sufferings, knew how to sympathize, 
to pity this woman, shorn of her power like a queen 
fallen from her throne, exiled from her country, trying 
behind her prison walls to keep up some show of roy- 
alty. 

‘Ht is not just the place I should have picked out to 
grow strong in,’’ added Eleanor, with a touch of sar- 
casm, smiling as she continued. ‘‘As it happened, my 
wishes were not consulted in the matter. My attorney 
and physician, whohad my health, comfort and best in- 
terests at heart, came to the conclusion that a change 
of scene and air would be beneficial, so I was brought 
here. A pleasant place for the summer,” and Eleanor 
smiled again. 

While she had a perfect horror of the baseness of 
the thing, yet it had its ludicrous side to her also; but 
her smile was so feeble, it was like death smiling at its 
own shadow. 

“The brutes!” exclaimed Mrs. Geraldus rising, her 
lithe body swaying to and fro as she stood a moment, 
her eyes flashing behind her lorgnette. Then seating 
herself again, she took a graceful poise. “Excuse me,” 


MRS. GERALDUS. 


lOI 


she said, swinging her lorgnette around on the fore- 
finger of her right hand, ‘‘one should never give way, 
but should be complete master of one's self. Feeling 
is a thing that should be kept out of sight, behind the 
curtain, only to be indulged in the boudoir or the nur- 
sery." 

“It is best not to wear one's heart on one's sleeve 
for the daws to pick at," replied Eleanor, quoting the 
Bard of Avon, “but 1 believe in having feeling and 
showing it, once in a while. Kind words and sympa- 
thy are never lost. They are like bread cast upon 
the waters, and they return before many days. After 
all, the world is governed more or less by feeling — bad 
or good; — women by their feelings and sentiments, men 
by their passions. We may find a man or woman here 
and there who is master of both." 

“^You are something of a philosopher," she replied, 
adjusting her lorgnette on the tip of her nose. “To be 
able to take things philosophically is an antidote for 
nerves, a smoother of problems. Like Diogenes, one 
can be happy in a tub." She laughed. Her laugh was 
low and sweet, but there were tears back of it. “Heigh- 
ho! home, sweet home, dear home!" she said, taking 
her lorgnette from her eyes and gazing thoughtfully on 
the floor. Then after a moment or two she remarked 
playfully: “When it was the fashion in society to show 
feeling, we did so, but when it was considered bad form, 
we could not think of it. When it was the fashion to 
tell the truth, most ot us tried to do so — that is, where 
the opposite habit was not too well grounded; — of course 


102 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

you know what I mean, — well, well, just little decep- 
tions. To tell the truth at all times, is really vulgar 
Why, you do not know whom you may offend by it. 
I hear the truth has come to be fashionable again — you 
know it went out for a while.’’ 

She rose -from her seat with a short rippling laugh, 
like the first low notes of the bluebird, before it breaks 
forth into full song. She pushed aside her train, walked 
to the door and back again, and threw herself in limp 
abandon on the chair. ‘‘Heigh-ho! home, sweet home!” 
she sighed, as she bent her head and took from the 
pocket of her gown a dainty cambric handkerchief, 
edged with the finest Valenciennes lace which, like the 
rest of her attire, was broidered with holes, and wiped 
the moisture from her eyes and glasses. 

“How long is it since you left your home.?” asked 
Eleanor in sympathetic tones. 

“Nearly four years and a half; it is three years since 
the door leading into central hall shut on me after a 
visit to the parlor, to see an agent of my sister, and 1 
have never been outside of the walls of this hall since. 
No friend or relative of mine has called in all that time, 
nor have 1 received one line from my sister.” 

“Do you ever go into the garden.? It looks very 
pleasant, and it would do you good to take a walk there 
every day. You are fond of books, I know, and you 
could sit and read for an hour or two in the cool shade 
of the trees. I would take advantage of it if I could 
only walk that far,” said Eleanor, ever ready to bright 
en the darkest hour with some stray gleams of sunshine 


MRS. GERALDUS. 


103 

“You would soon tire ot those high brick walls. They 
are a constant reminder of a prison as they stare at me 
wherever I turn. I try to forget as the months and 
years roll by, but I can think of nothing but home, 
sweet home. If father had lived, I would never have 
seen this place. Dear father, he was so fond of me.” 

Her voice grew husky; she drooped her head and 
pretended to look down at her slipper. 

“Excuse me,” she said, wiping her eyes and holding 
up her lorgnette before them, “one should never show 
feeling, or inflict it on another. It is bad taste. It is 
a luxury only to be indulged in behind the curtain, in 
the boudoir, or the nursery. How I wish you had 
known father,” she continued, throwing back her head 
and assuming a gay mood again. “He was an old Ken- 
tuckian, one of the most elegant men of his day; — such 
a gentleman. Father was just as polite to old aunt 
Lucy, Mrs. General Ward’s cook, when he met her, 
as he was to Mrs. Ward herself, (Mrs. Ward was our 
neighbor) of course you have heard of the Wards of 
Louisville. It was father’s way; he was the same to 
his own servants. The blacks understood it and paid 
him the homage due a king; — they would have died for 
him. Father was a banker, and mother died when my 
sister and 1 were small children. 1 was the younger 
and father would take me on his knee and stroke my 
hair, and say it was the only part of my mother’s beau 
ty I inherited.” 

“And pray, what was its original color, to have 
changed to such a lovely gray?” asked Eleanor, so in- 


104 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

terested in Mrs. Geraldus, that she forgot her own 
troubles. 

golden brown,’’ she answered with pride. ‘‘Fa- 
ther used to say that mother’s hair was like stolen tints 
from the after-glow of a mellow September sunset. Oh, 
father was poetical, as well as a great financier. 1 wish 
you had known father, — you would be just the woman 
to appreciate him. Dear, dear father!” 

•^‘Indeed I would, ’’answered Eleanor gravely. “There 
is nothing I admire or reverence more than a grand and 
noble man, — a man in every sense. He is next to the 
gods.” 

“Dear, dear father,” she said, rising and going to 
the door; then coming back, her whole aspect was 
changed. She drew close to Eleanor, and whispered in 
a low voice, ^‘You should have heard them last night; 
they were telephoning from here across to the men’s 
quarters, the most diabolical and profane talk, and all 
about me. They kept it up all night — it was really 
shameful. I had to get up and tell them I would have 
them arrested if they did not stop. I am like Caesar’s 
wife — above suspicion. Heigh-ho! home, sweet home! 
dear, dear home!” 

She wiped the tears from her eyes, turned and gli- 
ded out of the room. 

“I see, I see.” said Eleanor to herself; “a little off on 
the telephone. It is on that pretext then that they 
keep her here a prisoner. It is the thought of being 
locked up that brings about this slight derangement. 
If your people had kept you at home, you would prob* 


MRS. GERALDUS. 


105 

ably have been well long ere this. Poor thing! Poor thing! 
It is a shame! Ah! and the rents, holes and frayed 
edges of that costly lace, the carelessness of your at* 
tire is not that you are untidy. It is because you have 
grown indifferent to all the former things you cared for 
and that made life pleasant to live. This place has 
laid its blight upon you, and killed all the light, joy 
and hope in your heart. Poor thing! As I look back 
now, what a dainty creature you were, and my own 
heart sickens at the thought of you.’’ 

Eleanor laid her head back against the chair with a 
feeling of utter exhaustion. Her visitors, while ex- 
tremely interesting to her, had taxed somewhat her 
feeble strength, and pressed heavily upon the fine sen- 
sibilities, that responded and vibrated in sympathy to 
every story of human wrong and suffering. 

The sun was playing hide and seek behind the tall 
roof of the mens’ quarters, throwing arrows of gold 
through the trees and across the green sward, and now 
and then, as it took a good-night peep at the opposite 
wing a stray beam shot across the window where Ele- 
anor still sat behind the bars, watching the fading day. 
Below the lilac bush bent and swayed in the lingering 
light, and flung its perfume to the cool breeze that stole 
through the open sash and laved her fevered cheek 
and brow. Then the convent bell rang for five o’clock, 
— the hour for the patients’ tea, and a little later Meli- 
na made her appearance with a tray. Her usual air of 
antagonism was gone, her lips were puckered into a 
little round knot, as if meditating something pleasant 


I06 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

to say, (that is if Melina could by any possible effort 
be pleasing). 

“I brought you some toast and a glass of milk,’’ she 
said, her mouth relaxing into a smile, as she drew the 
stand up before Eleanor; — not another muscle of her 
face moved, but the left eye twitched slightly. “It’s 
too terrible what I have to put up with. Did you hear 
Mrs. Milford? She’s been off all day in one of her bad 
spells. She wants me to bring her steak, — steak for 
supper; the idea! There’s a way for managing them 
people, an’ the way is for to keep them down. If Sis- 
ter Beatrice ...” she lowered her voice, puckered up 
her lips, and came close to Eleanor, but thought of her- 
self and drew back. She was not yet sure of Mrs. 
Stanhope’s sanity. “If Sister Beatrice isn’t very strong, 
an’ can’t manage them, why don’t she let them that 
can.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Eleanor, who felt an instinctive 
dread of this woman. 

“It’s too terrible, Mrs. Stanhope, but what can you 
expect from them insane people.” 

Melina looked at Eleanor, took two or three steps 
towards the door, tossed her head and strode out. 

A few moments later Hannah Cameron entered, and 
taking from under her apron a napkin, she unfolded it 
and disclosed large baked potato. 

“I thought you would like it for supper,” she said, 
as she laid it on Eleanor’s plate. “We seldom have 
potatoes for tea unless they are ordered.” 

“It is just what I wanted,” replied Eleanor, and the 


MRS. GERALDUS. 


107 

gratitude that shone in her eyes as she raised them to 
Hannah's face told the little lady how deeply she felt 
her kindness. 

Hannah had met her friend of the kitchen that after- 
noon in the yard where she had gone to take her usual 
walk, and asked her to pick out a nice potato and put 
it in the oven to bake for a sick patient. As it drew 
near the time for supper, she kept watch at the dumb 
waiter, and was soon rewarded by hearing a peculiar 
noise and a slight shaking of the waiter. She was 
there in a second and as she pulled it half way up, she 
beheld in the corner of one of the shelves a small cov- 
ered dish. She uncovered the same and took from it a 
baked potato, wrapped it in a napkin and carried it to 
her room. She knew it would not be long before Meli- 
na would be around with the trays. 

‘‘Try and finish your supper before Melina comes for 
the salver, and when you are through, wrap the peel- 
ings in a paper and keep them here. I don't care about 
Melina seeing them. I will slip out now, and come in 
after a while for them." 

It seemed to Eleanor that never before in her life 
had she tasted anything so good as that potato, eaten 
with a pinch of salt and butter and a glass of fresh 
sweet milk. 

“It is a supper for a queen," she said, later, as she 
arranged her pillow and placed a little roll of paper un- 
der her head, to be given to Hannah Cameron when 
she returned. It contained the peelings of the baked 
potato. 


I08 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER X. 

DOVE WING. 

Glyn Place was one of those short cross streets 
that the long avenues of a city leave behind, like a river 
does its inlets, as they cut their way farther and farther 
to the West. Glyn Place had built itself in its own 
peculiar way, many years before it ever thought of be- 
coming a trimly graded and stone-paved street. It never 
could have fashioned itself into its present picturesque- 
ness if it had. Its quiet and repose were unpleasantly 
disturbed when it found the great smoky city crowding 
up around and about it, wedging it in on all sides and 
then shooting past it with a defiant toss of its head, as 
much as to say, button for you! You need not kick 
up such a rumpus for nothing.'* 

So it sped on, stretching east and west, north and 
south; but as Glyn Place, like most things that sooner 
or later must bow to the inevitable, consoled itself with 
the thought, that while the noise of the great Babylon 
rolled on every side of it, it could not enter its sacred 
precincts, without having to turn around and go out as 
it came in. It was about two squares and a half in 
length, lined on both sides with large yards and pretty 
cosy homes of the well-to-do class. 


DOVE WING. 


109 

As most of the occupants were the owners of their 
homes, there were scarcely two houses alike, and as 
nearly all had originally been built according to the 
length of their owners' purse, and as time passed and 
the purse grew longer and fatter, and they had plenty 
of ground to work upon, one would add a wing to the 
side, or a bay-window, another a portico jutting out 
from the front, a small porch or a broad veranda there, 
while others would superimpose a mansard roof on a 
one-story cottage. All gave quite a variety of archi- 
tecture to Glyn Place; and, as the ground was hilly, 
many of the houses stood way above the grade of the 
street, and had to be reached by high winding steps. 
Sometimes these were of stone, sometimes of wood, 
painted a color to suit the fancy of the occupant. 

Its upper end was shut in by a tall, old-fashioned L- 
shaped house, built of brick and painted a slate color. 
It had upper and lower porches running along its east 
side. With the exception of those in its narrow front, 
all the windows opened on to these porches. It was 
also entered from the side, a wide hall in the center di- 
viding the lower rooms, which were large and spacious, 
consisting of a parlor and dining-room, and back of the 
dining-room with its pantry and closets, a summer and 
winter kitchen. The sleeping apartments were on the 
second floor. It stood high on a knoll, surrounded by 
three acres of ground, in the midst of trees and shrub- 
bery, and was reached from the pavement by a flight 
of white stone steps. 


no JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

It was termed by the residents of Glyn Place ‘‘Dove 
Wing,’’ some thinking it took the name from the gen- 
tle sweet-faced mistress who had presided over it for 
so many years. But after “Glyn Grove“ had become 
“Glyn Place,’' it went by the shorter appeliation of 
the “Wing,” as it stood guarding over the quiet of 
“Glyn Place,” keeping out all intruders, save the 
butchers, grocers and the milkmen, and now and then 
the doctor’s buggy and sometimes a family carriage 
that was to be seen with its ladies coming to call on 
their more prosperous neighbors. 

It was a May evening, and the twilight lingered and 
loitered about Glyn Place, loath to leave a thing of so 
much beauty to the possession of the shadows that 
were slowly and stealthily creeping across the road, up 
the slope of the green lawns, dancing with fairy grace 
among the trees, shrubs and vines, and sweeping their 
long trains, woven with threads of penciled light in and 
out through the flowers that bloomed in every variety 
of hue, and flung their perfume to greet the footsteps 
of the lone pedestrian, or the tones of a piano, accom- 
panied by a violin or the strings of a harp, or guitar, 
as they floated out through some open window. 

In an upper apartment of Dove Wing sat three per- 
sons. It was a large square room, the walls tinted in 
delicate gray paper, deeply bordered in crimson and 
gold. Yet there was scarcely a place the width of a 
hand to be seen, so closely were they hung with rare 
old engravings and etchings, that showed not only taste 
and knowledge in their selection, but time and care. 


DOVE WING. 


Ill 


There were here and there a Raphael Morgan, one or 
two of Whistler’s, a Meyer Von Bremen, and a few 
small oil paintings and water colors of modest preten- 
sions. 

A wide drugget of ingrain carpet, the pattern oak 
and green, covered tne middle of the polished floor. A 
large round table stood in the center, covered with a 
cloth of dark green, deeply bordered with garnet, and 
strewn over it here and there were books, newspapers 
and several of the latest monthly magazines. At one 
side was a large book case that nearly reached to the 
ceiling, its shelves filled with books. 

Opposite to the two windows that opened on to the 
eastern porch, was a broad and high window of stained 
glass with a pointed Norman top. It had been recently 
cut into the wall, as there were no windows facing 
the west of Dove Wing. To the left of this window 
stood a large black walnut desk, its lower part having 
long deep drawers, like those of a dressing case, and 
finished above with shelves that were concealed by 
curtains of the same shade and material as those which 
covered the center table, and which were hung from 
the top by brass rods and rings. The seats and backs 
of the stout easy chairs were cushioned in garnet leather. 

Above the old fashioned mantelpiece of wood (for 
Dove Wing had been built for many years) hung the 
portrait of a lady, about fifty years of age. The bands 
of silken brown hair fell away in short ringlets from a 
brow so calm, that it seemed to diffuse peace to all who 
looked upon it. This calm beamed from large eyes of 


1 12 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

dark violet blue, filled with a love that shone in them 
for every created thing. The nose was long and the 
nostrils delicate, the mouth had a shade of firmness in 
the clear-cut lips, but was softened by the same attri- 
butes that characterized every other lineament. The 
portrait was not a work of art; but what it lacked in 
perfection of drawing, finish and what the modern ar- 
tist terms technique^ it made up in spirit, youthful en- 
thusiasm, a genius for color and all the devoted love a 
son could have for a mother. 

The counterpart of the portrait sat in a low rocking 
chair by the center table in front of the grate, where 
a small coal fire burned; for the evening was damp, and 
Dove Wing stood so high that not even its trees shel- 
tered it from the cool spring winds. She was now 
some twelve years older than the portrait; a dress of 
black cashmere fell in soft folds about her tall figure, 
that still retained much of its former stateliness. A 
white mull handkerchief came up about the neck and 
crossed over the bosom. A dainty cap covered the 
top of her head, its old yellow lace blending with the 
silvery gray of her short side-curls that peeped out 
from under it. 

As she sat there in her dignified and serene beauty, 
she was a type of the old lady that is fast passing away, 
and twenty years hence will be extinct; that is the 
woman who produced her exists no longer, nor can she 
under the present conditions our institutions and the 
part our young and middle-aged women are taking in 
the outdoor battle, strife and wrangle of life. While 


DOVE WING. 


II3 

she has clamored for equal rights, men have stepped 
aside and let her enter the marts with them, while they 
have refused as tenaciously as ever to bestow all that 
would make her their equal in the law. In the mean- 
time she has added to her other burdens, that of bread- 
winning. 

Every few moments Mrs. Alden would lay down the 
book she was reading in her lap. It was a collection 
of old hymns, which it was her wont to look over every 
evening before retiring, and take off her glasses to 
watch the antics of a large Maltese cat that persisted 
in drawing the attention of a boy about ten years old, 
who sat at her feet on the floor in the midst of a pile 
of school books, his long slim body all gathered up in a 
heap. He was very fair, and his small, perfectly shaped 
head was a mass of short golden curls. His eyes were 
large, dark, and of a dreamy brown; the nose was 
slightly retrousse^ the mouth and chin, while perfect in 
their outlines, gave evidence of strength mixed with 
great refinement. His hands and feet were also very 
small; so was his body. But rt seemed to make up for 
all deficiencies of bone and robustness, in length, mus- 
cle, grace and agility. He was clad in a suit of dark 
navy blue, a jersey blouse and short parts that met at 
the knee his long stockings of the same shade. He had 
taken off his heavy outdoor shoes, and had donned a 
pair of low slippers, preparatory for the evening's hour 
and a hah of study, before retiring. 

He was turning the leaves of an atlas, and seemed 
8 


1 14 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

absorbed in his lesson, but every few moments would 
unroll himself, as it were, and throw out one of his long 
slim legs, then slowly draw it up, only to let it out 
again, while he would raise his eyes from his book to 
cast furtive glances at Chute, which was the cat's 
name. 

Chute was lying in wait for the least move the boy 
might chance to make. He had stealthly stolen up, 
until he was within twenty inches of T eddy's foot. Then 
he stretched himself full length upon the floor, laid his 
head upon his forepaws, his every muscle and fibre 
quivering, his round purple eyes glowing like coals of 
fire, and expanding until they looked the size of a silver 
dollar. Then he made one springing leap upon the 
boy's foot, and thence into his lap; but before Teddy 
could catch him, he sprang away, jumped to the other 
side of the room and came dancing back towards him 
on his four feet, his back humped like a bow, his tail 
sticking straight up, with every hair bristling like the 
quills on a porcupine. After he had forwarded and 
backed two or three times, as though dancing a Scotch 
reel, and seeing that Teddy took no further notice of 
him, he curled himself down by the hearth to await 
further movements, all the while keeping watch on 
the boy. 

From time immemorial, there have been few boys 
but love a dog, and there have been few boys — even 
of the poorest classes — but have had one or two pets 
of the canine family; but that any friendship should 
exist between a boy and a cat seems preposterous, and 


DOVE WING. 


II5 

most boys will pooh! pooh! at the idea. Nevertheless 
Teddy and Chute had a great liking for each other. 
The cat was very much of a favorite with Mrs. Alden, 
and shared the petting of the family with Teddy, but 
only in a different way. Eliza, Mrs. Alden’s old faith- 
ful servant, could not get over the cuteness of “That 
Chate,” as she called him. 

“He’s the knowin’est cat I ever did see, ma’am,” 
she would often say to her mistress. “You’d think he 
was a Christian, ma’am, he is so wise and so like a 
human being. Do you think he’d take a drop of milk 
out of that little tin dish? Indade, he wouldn’t! 1 have 
always to give it to him in the china saucer, and his 
mate cut up on a plate. Worra! worra! It’s astonish- 
ing how yez can Christianize even the dumb animals.” 

The other occupant of the room was a man, still 
young, just stepping over the threshold of early prime. 
He sat: reading the evening paper, with his left arm 
resting on the lid of the desk, where a silver student- 
lamp burned, shedding a mellow glow over drawing- 
paper, map and architectural designs in different stages 
of finish, water colors, pencils, charcoals, crayon stumps, 
ink and mucilage, all in littered confusion. 

There is little change in Richard Alden since last we 
saw him, with the exception that the boyishness of 
twenty-five had developed into the handsome mature 
manhood of thirty-five. On this evening, ten years 
after the death of his father, he had not only made a 
distinguished world-wide reputation, but was on a fair 
road to a modest fortune. 


11^ JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XI. 

SAID A VOICE WHOSE TONES FLOATED BACK 
OVER THE YEARS. 

Teddy threw down his books, rolled over on his back^ 
stretched himself full length on the floor, and yawned. 
Then without moving a limb or muscle, he raised himself 
to a sitting posture, drew in his legs and wrapped them 
about him, until there could be nothing seen but the 
trunk of his body and his head. Teddy had a peculiar 
way of handling his long arms and legs. They never 
seemed to be in his way, and so far as suppleness and 
agility, there were no difference between him and his 
friend Chute, the cat, as they both seemed to be utterly 
without bones. He began to slowly gather up his 
books, and form them into a pile, and as he placed one 
over the other he would stop and yawn. 

‘‘Uncle Dick,’' he said, reflectively, when he came 
to the last book, “if you were a boy, would you take 
a dare from a girl?” 

Richard laid his newspaper on his lap, pulled the 
corners of his mustache and looked at his mother with 
a smile, as he answered: 

“It would depend entirely on the nature of the dare. 
What young lady at this early date has been testing 
Teddy’s spurs and lance to do battle for her favor?” 
he asked, trying to get a peep at the boy, who was 


SAID A VOICE. 


II7 

sitting at the opposite side of the table, his hands clasp- 
ing his ankles and his chin resting on his knees, con- 
templating the pile of his school books. 

“Oh, it isn't me. Uncle Dick. It's Billy Seymour, 
a boy a great deal bigger than me, and Flossy Dalton. 
She is the wildest and prettiest girl in school, and can 
run like a deer. To-day Billy called her a dunce, be- 
cause she missed in nearly all her studies. She is al- 
ways teasing him, and he just did it to get even. When 
school was over, she took his hat and ran away with 
it, and then, just like a girl, she got sorry and brought 
it back. He said the next time she did it, he would 
catch her and kiss her. She stood and dared him to do 
it, but he just laughed and walked away. If I were as 
big a boy as he, I wouldn't have taken the dare, as I 
can outrun her now." 

“She must have been a plucky young miss," said 
Richard, with a roar of laughter. 

“My son, it is bedtime," said Mrs. Alden, who sat 
listening with a face all smileless at Teddy's narrative. 

Teddy picked up his books, gave a bound to his feet, 
and laid them on the center-table, then went and stood 
by his uncle, leaning in a shy way against tne side of 
the desk. Only his dark brown eyes showed how 
dearly he loved the man who had been more than a 
father to him. He crept up closer and closer, stole his 
arms about Richard's neck, kissed him and bade him 
good night. Then he went to Mrs. Alden, lingered a 
few moments about her chair and kissed her affection- 
itely, picked up Chute, who was sleeping curled up 


Il8 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

like a roly-poly down at Mrs. Alden’s feet, and rubbed 
his back, he purring so loud that it almost amounted to 
a musical snore, if there could be such a thing. Then 
he dropped him and bounded out of the room. 

Chute gave a leap after him, but Teddy was too 
quick, for the door closed on him. Chute sat for a 
second watching it, then raised himself up on his hind legs 
and tried to turn the knob with his fore paws, but fail- 
ing in this he stretched himself on the rug before the 
door, seeming apparently to add five or six inches to 
his length. Chute knew well his mistress would soon 
follow. Domesticated as he was, his nature was too 
nocturnal not to love to hunt the mice in the barns, 
and the grasshoppers and birds on moonlight nights. 
So when Mrs. Alden went her rounds to fasten and bar 
the doors and windows, he knew it was his time to 
steal out. 

‘‘It is five years, mother, since the morning I first 
brought Teddy home, a poor little half-starved waif,’’ 
said Richard thoughtfully, “and we have never had 
reason to regret it. Every day since then he has grown 
nearer and dearer to us, and repaid us ten-fold by grow- 
ing to be the bright, intelligent, beautiful boy he is.*’ 

“And you have never been able to discover any 
trace of his parents since?” 

“Never any, only what 1 first learned from Ogden, 

the man that keeps the ‘Drovers Inn* at E , on the 

morning I found him. There were two strange men 
seen with the child in the neighborhood. One of them 
judging from his dress and manner, had all the appear- 


SAID A VOICE. 


zig 

ance of a gentleman, but was of dissipated habits. He 
seemed co have money, as he spent it freely. From 
the description given of him, he must have borne a 
marked likeness to the boy and was evidently his father. 
His companion was a very suspicious looking character, 
and might have been anything from a well dressed 
house-breaker to a bank forger. The other day I had 
occasion to go to E , when I made inquiries of Og- 

den, who still keeps the Drover’s Inn. He had forgot- 
ten all about the incident of the boy until I probed his 
memory. He has never seen or heard anything of 
them since.” 

‘ ‘Supposing his father should come back some time and 
claim him, what could we do in the matter, my son?” 
said Mrs. Alden anxiously. 

‘‘I have no fear of that, mother. A man who can 
desert his child at the helpless age of five years, will 
not be apt to take much trouble to find him after so 
long a time.” 

‘‘The little white silk patch bag, with the name 
‘Teddy,’ and that of a woman’s embroidered on the 
outside, and the lock of golden hair, tied with a blue 
ribbon, have been no clues to the whereabouts of the 
mother.” 

‘‘None whatever. I have a man, who is travelling 
book agent, a Tom Tatum. He is a keen and sharp 
observer, sees everything without pretending to, — a 
natural detective, — and travels about a good deal on 
foot in country roads and towns. He is in possession 
of all the details we have at present in regard to the boy 


120 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

and his parents, but he has never been able to find the 
least thing to put him on the trail of either father or 
mother. I myself think they are both dead.’’ 

One July morning, about five years after the death 
of his father, Richard, who was building a country res- 
idence in the suburbs for a wealthy gentleman, was 
driving along the road in his buggy on his way to the 
house, when a little golden headed boy, with clothes 
all tattered and torn, came running before his horse. 
The tears were streaming from his big brown eyes down 
his sunken cheeks as he cried, holding out his little 
shut up fist, ‘‘Oh, papa! Papa! See da, papa!” Richard 
stopped his horse and got out. A great pang shot 
through his heart as he saw the natural beauty and re- 
finement of the child, with his starved and neglected 
condition. 

“My little man,” he said, picking him up in his arms, 
“where did you come from.? Where is your home and 
your mother?” 

The little fellow put his arms around Richard’s neck 
and nestled close to his breast, all the while crying, 
“Papa! Papa! Dear papa! Take me home and be my 
papa.” 

This appeal was more than Richard could bear. He 
placed him in his buggy beside him and took him to 
Ogden’s Inn, where he got him a bowl of sweet milk 
and bread. The child ate as if he had not tasted food 
for days. When he had satisfied his hunger, Richard 
picked him up and laid him on the seat beside him in 
the buggy, where he soon fell asleep, all the while 


SAID A VOICE. 


I2I 


keeping his right hand shut tightly. Richard made in- 
quiries of all the workmen and the neighbors if they 
knew anything of the child or the whereabouts of his 
parents, but no one could give him any further infor- 
mation, only what he had learned from Ogden. 

By noon Richard and Teddy were in Dove Wing. 
After Mrs. Alden had him bathed, combed and fed, 
she managed by a good deal of coaxing to gain from 
him his name. All that he could say about his father 
was, that he went away and left him in a barn, and 
Teddy was afraid. When she asked him about his 
mother, he pointed to a string around his neck; hang- 
ing to it was a scapular of white satin, very much soiled, 
and embroidered on the outside in red was a heart, and 
under it were the words, ‘‘Sacred Heart of Jesus, and 
in one corner the name “Teddy,'' interwoven with the 
full name of a woman. The letters were worked with 
red silk, the same as the heart. This was what Mrs. 
Alden referred to as the “patch bag." Inside of it was 
found a lock of golden hair. 

Mrs. Alden observed that while she was bathing 
Teddy, he kept his little fist closed as tight as iron. 
When she asked him “what he had in his hand," he 
held it up. “Da," he said, making a blow with his lips, 
but he seemed to have no power to open it. At last 
Mrs. Alden drew the fingers apart, and a large butterfly 
flew out. “Bo! Bo!" he cried, making a dart after it, 
but it had flown out of the open window. 

For sometime he persisted in calling Richard “Papa," 
which, while it amused Richard immensely, at the 


122 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

same time annoyed him, until finally he succeeded in 
getting him to say ‘‘Uncle/’ 

Mrs. Alden rose, laid her hymn book on the table 
and took up her Bible to read a chapter as was her 
wont before retiring. When she had finished, she bade 
her son good-night and went to her room. 

After Mrs. Alden left for her own apartment, Richard 
laid aside his paper, rose, went to his desk and opened 
one of the lower drawers and drew from it a box of 
Havana cigars, lighted one and sat down in his mother’s 
easy chair before the grate fire for his usual smoke, 
and an hour or two of that quiet thought in which we 
can indulge our fancies, make our plans, and build fu- 
ture air castles. 

He had been thinking lately much of Eleanor Stan- 
hope — what had become of her.? Jack Hilder said he 
had seen but little of her since her husband’s death, 
and had entirely lost all trace of her since her illness. 
He himself had secretly wished and hoped that fate 
might be kind and bring about some unlooked for 
incident or accident, that would again throw them 
together. 

When she was first taken ill, he had called once or 
twice and left his card, and several times he had sent 
her boxes of rare flowers, but no recognition of them 
came from her. Perhaps she had never forgiven him 
for the supposed slight to her pride and womanhood. 
This silent severing of love on the man’s part wounds 
deeply the sensitive heart of woman, often too deeply 
ever to heal. But how could he have done otherwise.? 


SAID A VOICE. 


123 

Extreme cases must be met by extreme measures. 
She would not blame him for the course he had taken, 
when she knew the truth. He was cruel to her; but 
in being so, he had dealt a harder blow to himself, for 
he loved her. Since then the years that had passed — 
and taken up as he was with his other pursuits — had 
cooled somewhat the ardor of his first young passion. 
Yet he had never seen a woman since that ever stirred 
for a moment to flame one spark of its embers that still 
slumbered in his breast. 

As he sat there puffing the long curling threads of 
smoke from his lips, the memory of that summer dream 
came back, and he leaned again beside her on the ledge 
of Castle Rock, as he had done on the last evening of 
her stay in the Ozarks, with all the glory of the hills 
about them, their peaks crowned by the splendor of 
the moon and stars. The solemn silence was broken 
now and then by the far-off clatter of horses’ hoofs 
and the gay laughter of a riding party returning home, 
and the low weird shrough of the pines as the sweet 
wind played through their branches. Eleanor, like 
some fair mountain goddess leaning beside him, dressed 
in her simple robe of white, with the light of a soul 
capable of so much heroism shining out through her 
deep dark eyes, — Eleanor, with her gentle, womanly 
ways. All rose before him, and stirred the heart of 
the man with a strange, reverent love, as it had never 
the boy. 

He heaved a great sigh. Yes, he loved her then, 
and he loved her now. She was his ideal, his dream. 


124 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

He had met her and lost her. She was the link out of 
his life — yes, he must seek her, and find her. He 
could stand now proudly before her and offer her his 
hand, his heart, and all he possessed. Yes, he would 
seek her, and she would forgive him when she knew 
the truth. Both were still young, and many years of 
life, love and happiness might still be theirs. 

Then this scene vanished, nor could he again recall 
it. But there arose before him another, — dimly, 
vaguely at first, — then it took shape, and slowly it be- 
came more and more real. 

Upon a cot in a small, bare, dingy room, a woman 
reclined. Her form, though wasted, seemed familiar 
to him. He could catch but a glimpse of her profile, 
but the features, though worn to emaciation, had lost 
none of their marked beauty of outline. The dark hair 
fell away from the noble brow in long, lustrous braids, 
and lay in a heap of satiny ropes about her head on 
the pillow. 

He drew his hand across his forehead to shut out the 
vision, but it only grew more distinct. Then she turned 
her full face to him. The dark eyes were sunken, 
and much of their old softness was gone; and that 
light, which in health used to flash out from behind 
the long lashes like a sunbeam through a curtained 
window, was now dimmed by illness, and gazed at him 
with a pitiful, beseeching expression. Then she seemed 
to rise, and with hands clasped before her, she tottered 
towards him and crouched down at his knee. 

“Richard, said a voice, whose tones floated back 


SAID A VOICE. 


125 

over the years, like the rhythm of a song long unsung, 
the melody of which still lingered in his ear, “for the 
sake of that first sweet maiden love that came as ripe 
as the summer noon, in which it was begotten — un- 
asked, but Oh! how welcome! — rescue me, save me 
from the terrible fate that awaits me. Search for me! 
Do not give me up until I am found!’^ 

“It is Eleanor!’^ he cried, brushing his hands across 
his forehead again. “She has been missing for some 
time! She may be dying of neglect in some hospital. 
There has been foul play, and that attorney of hers is 
at the bottom of it. She may be incarcerated in some 
place where she can get no word to her friends. Yes; 
1 will search the world tor her, and 1 will leave nothing 
untried or undone, until she is found. I will send im- 
mediately for Tom Tatem, and lay the whole matter 
before him.’’ 

“Bah!’^ he cried, rising from his chair, and taking 
the cigar from his mouth he threw it into the grate. 
“Those cigars are half opium. I told Sanders to give 
me the best and finest brand of Havanas. It is a deu- 
cedly mean state of affairs, when everything a man 
consumes in any way, is either drugged or adulterated. 
If this kind of thing keeps on, we will soon become a 
race of narrow-chested, knock-kneed, nervous men. I 
can admire a man for keeping his eyes and his ears 
open and driving a sharp bargain with his fellows; for 
if he don^t, he will soon get worsted. But when men 
can deliberately, and in cold blood, for the sake of gain, 
poison every article a human being takes into his stom- 


126 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

ach in the way of food, and not call it slow murder, 
they have no conscience; and as for men without con- 
science, the sooner the world is rid of them, the better. 

‘‘But Eleanor! My God! Eleanor!'^ he exclaimed 
aloud, pacing the floor, the dark eyes seeming to follow 
him, with their sad imploring gaze. “What does it 
mean} Are you really in trouble? Psychology has 
an old theory, believed in by many for ages, that mind 
can communicate with mind while still in the flesh, and 
this has been proven in the last ten years by many 
scientific facts. But for the want of time I have paid 
little or no attention to it. Yes; I am pretty well worn 
aown, and have not had a holiday for ten years, — that 
is the trouble. When a man gets started in the world, 
the people drive him to death. 1 believe I will take a 
year’s rest. I will go to-morrow and turn the whole 
business over to Jennings; play all summer and take a 
run over to Europe in the fall.” 

As he walked to and fro, the shadow seemed to fol- 
low by his side, and the dark, deep sorrowful eyes to 
gaze into his. 

“My God! Am I mad?” he exclaimed, stopping be- 
fore the grate, his forehead wet with cold perspiration, 
and shivering as with a chill. “Oh, Eleanor, my be- 
loved Eleanor, is it you? Speak to me! I am strong 
and can bear it! Have you come from the dead, or 
are you in trouble?” 

He waited a moment, looked again, but the shadow 
was gone from his side. 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 


127 

‘‘It is some warning. Eleanor Stanhope must be 
dead or dying, or confined in some asylum. 1 will go 
and telegraph to Tom Tatum to come to me immedi- 
ately. Eleanor must be found dead or alive.’' 


CHAPTER XII. 

FEELING HIS PULSE. 

Two or three weeks after Eleanor’s incarceration, 
Mr. Brand bethought him that it was time for him to 
be calling on his ward. As he was now, one might 
say, sole keeper of her person, he must show some so- 
licitude for her welfare, aside from signing checks for 
her weekly bills. He had led the Sisters to believe 
that after paying for her board and room and attention, 
she had little to spare, and could not afford any extrav- 
agances. Of course, he himself was an entirely disin- 
terested party. He simply wished to take care of what 
property she had, and to see that she was comfortable. 
But Jonas was as sly as an old gray-bearded reynard, 
whose long evil life had been spent in devising means 
of escape from the just punishment of his depredations. 

He thought that before calling on Eleanor, he would 
pay a visit to Dr. Van Haustan, the physician in charge 
of the Institute, and by reversing the usual order of 
things, feel the pulse of the doctor to see if it beat in 
unison with his own. He knew he could keep Eleanor 
in the asylum until it suited him to take her out, but he 


128 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

would not for anything in the world have any suspicion 
cast upon his integrity. But if he took her out, he 
would have to account for her money and make a set- 
tlement of Mr. Stanhope’s estate, which he could not 
think of doing just then. He had invested several 
thousand dollars, on which he collected the interest, 
allowing her but a small portion. There was only one 
way for her to gain her freedom, either to be his, or 
die. If she died, there was not a living being to ques- 
tion him concerning her property, and as for Mr. Stan- 
hope’s estate, — well, he could easily fix that up. There 
being no heirs but one sister living in Calilornia, he 
could turn most of the estate over to the widow, which 
meant putting it into his own pocket. 

Jonas was no fool. All that came to his mill was 
grist. Since he had become sole master of Eleanor’s 
personal liberty, the desire for her money had become 
so great, that it had nearly killed whatever little was 
left of the old passion he had had for her; and, as the 
days went by, he wished in his secret soul that she 
would die or destroy herself. She hated him anyway, 
he thought, and now, since her incarceration she would 
hate him more than ever. Besides what did he want 
now.? And Mr. Brand’s face became scarlet, as he ad- 
justed his glasses, twirled his thumbs and murmured, 
‘‘Ah, yes, all men have their fancies and romances.” 

Such men as Jonas Brand care only for the physical 
in woman. Mind, character, intellect and the spiritual 
have no place with them, Their love is of the flesh, 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 129 

fleshly, and soon dies the death of all that is purely 
carnal. 

It was afternoon; and Jonas made his way to Dr. 
Van Haustan's office. Jonas had taken unusual care 
with his toilet, for reasons best known to himself. His 
hair and mustache had received an extra touch of au- 
burn dye, (for be it said that woman is not the only 
one tinged with the weakness of dreading gray hairs, 
as her masculine relative is not exempt from the van- 
ity.) And Jonas, in spite of all his care, had that very 
morning found several silvery threads among his brick- 
colored locks. His light gray overcoat, that men of 
his age affect in the early spring, hung from his shoul- 
ders without a wrinkle. There was not a speck of 
dust on his well polished shoes, and his collar and the 
cuffs which came down over his small gloved hand, 
were immaculate. 

As he wended his way through the busy streets, 
and at every slow step twirled his cane, he looked the 
very personification of plethoric placidity and opulent 
satisfaction; for to add to all his good fortunes, he had 
a few days before gained for a client of his a long-im- 
pending and important lawsuit. 

When he reached the doctor’s residence, he rang 
the bell and was admitted by a black boy and shown 
into a private parlor. 

Seeing no other occupant but himself, he stood a 
moment gazing about him, (for Jonas was never in a 
hurry) when he fixed in his mind’s eye the whole en- 


9 


130 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

semble of the room. He took off his high hat and laid 
it on the table that stood in the center of the floor, then 
his outer coat and seated himself comfortably in a chair, 
for Mr. Brand proposed having a comfortable chat with 
the Doctor. In a few moments the Doctor entered and 
took a seat beside him. 

‘‘Oh! ah! yah! so!"' ejaculated the Doctor, when 
Mr. Brand made known who he was, and his errand. 
“It is Madame Stanhope, in 35, who imagines that she 
cannot walk. That is often the case with women like 
her. The mind takes hold of the most singular notions. 
Ah! so!^^ and the Doctor adjusted his glasses. 

“I suppose. Doctor,’’ said Jonas, bending forth and 
twirling his thumbs, “seeing the insane as you do 
every day, you can relate many curious and strange 
facts concerning them, things that are really laugh- 
able.” 

“Ah! Well, well! The brain is a very interesting 
study. There is no accounting for what people will 
imagine, and no two persons are affected in the same 
way. 1 recollect a lady who was at the Institution a 
few years ago, who imagined her head was a parrot’s 
head, and that the face was turned to her back, and 
nothing could convince her to the contrary.” 

The Doctor adjusted his glasses and smoothed his 
coat tails. Jonas smiled, twirled his thumbs and 
leaned back in his chair. 

We generally measure others from our own stand- 
point of conduct and morals, and while Jonas did this, 
he had yet a keen insight into human nature. He saw 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 

in Dr. Van Haustan a man not far removed from him- 
self, although the profession of a physician is held by 
most of the world to be of the greatest honor, and one 
that should be above all selfishness, sordidness, and 
gain, — a position next only below the minister of God. 
But he judged from what he had seen, that the dealers 
in mind, matter and physics were no better than men 
in other professions, and that there were tricks in all 
trades. That many of them used this high office, the 
confidence reposed in them by the helpless sick, to 
commit the basest deeds, and barter and sell their 
lives away. There was no crime in a sense to be laid 
at Dr. Van Haustan’s door, it was something for him 
to have charge of so large an institution as St. Ursula^s 
Private Insane Asylum. It gave him a wide field of 
study in his specialty, a reputation and standing among 
physicians, and brought many patients to him from 
country and city, to be treated for nervous disorders. 
Still his practice at the Asylum was with him only a 
means to an end, as he was handicapped by the Sis- 
ters on all sides. 

He was no humanitarian, and had little or no sym- 
pathy with his patients’ sufferings. He looked upon 
their ills, their diseases, from a purely scientific stand- 
point. Sunshine, air, quiet, rest and good nourishing 
well-cooked food, all that really goes to produce sleep 
and build up the brain and nerve tissues, did not come 
within his premises. The Sisters attended to that. 
Given self-control, a whole, wholesome body, and I 
will wager that ten times out of ten, the brain will 


132 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

take care of itself. He was not working on the prin- 
ciple of gaining happiness by self-sacrifice. Whether 
you were sane or insane when brought to the Asylum 
was not his affair. So long as you came under a phy- 
sician's certificate, which was the rule of the house, 
and the law by which it held the patient, he simply 
treated you as insane. If you were suffering from 
temporary aberration of mind when incarcerated, and 
recovered, he gave no certificate of cure. The Sisters 
attended to that also. If your relations or guardians 
chose to take you out, well and good; if it were to their 
interest to keep you there, you were kept; — it was 
not his place to interfere. The beautiful maxim of 
Christ, “He that is not for me, is against me," can be 
the motto of an evil purpose as well as a good one, and 
the Doctor knew that these holy women conducted 
their institution on that basis, “he that is not for me 
is against me," and he rested upon the principle, that 
he did not propose to run against himself. 

“Ah, so," continued the Doctor after a pause, “there 
are many kinds of insanity, such as kleptomania, mo- 
nomania, epileptic, dietetic, those that won't eat, par- 
amora, and many more, and many that science as yet 
has no technical names for, because nature is con- 
stantly producing new and varied phases of the disease. 
I think it would be best for you to wait until Mrs. Stan- 
hope has quieted down. There is always more or less 
shock to the nerves when a patient first finds herself 
or himself under restraint. They are apt to consider 
^heir friends, relatives or guardians, or whoever they 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 


133 

may be that have charge of them, their enemies. So I 
would advise you to wait a few weeks longer before 
calling.^’ 

*Mt is the most astonishing thing in this case — a year 
ago Mrs. Stanhope was the most clear-headed woman 
1 knew, and (Jonas bent forward, dropping 

his voice to a whisper, while his eyes twinkled a world 
of meaning) ‘^and physically she was hard to beat.’^ 
He adjusted his glasses, tossed one leg over the other 
and leaned back in his chair. ‘^Now I could under- 
stand, he said, bending forward and glowering at the 
Doctor, ‘‘if she were one of those lean, delicate, ner- 
vous women. But for Eleanor Stanhope .... By 
George! her illness must certainly be her mind and 
nothing else. There is no doubt of it.^' 

Mr. Brand turned and looked towards the window, 
and after a pause asked the Doctor in his most suave 
way, if he thought “there was any chance of Mrs. 
Stanhope's recovery." 

“W — ell, not right away. She is very much reduc- 
ed physically — but that is often the case where the 
mind is diseased. If she remains quiet, as she has 
done so far, she may after a while begin to pick up. I 
would advise you by all means to postpone your visit 
lor at least three weeks longer," said the Doctor, ris- 
ing in answer to another summons. 

Jonas rose also, and prepared to depart. The Doc- 
tor waited for a moment, smoothing out his coat tails, 
and then bowed Jonas out. 

When Mr. Brand entered the door of his olifice, he 


134 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

turned and closed it softly after him, and stood a sec- 
ond gazing around him. Although for nearly thirty 
years not an article ol furniture had been changed 
from its original place in the room, yet Mr. Brand was 
never known to enter his apartments, when not occu- 
pied by clients or visitors, but what he stood three or 
rour minutes scanning the walls, the floor, the ceiling 
and the several articles of furniture, as though it were 
his first visit to a strange place. He stepped to the 
table and laid his cane upon it, removed his high hat, 
looked at it a second, gave it a slight brush with his 
hand and laid it beside his cane, all the while smiling 
in a self-satisfied manner, drew off his overcoat and 
placed it carefully beside his hat, and then slowly 
seated himself at his desk. 

‘‘After all, Jonas Brand, you are not so much worse 
than other men,'’ he said, clasping his white hands 
over his corpulent stomach, and laughing until he was 
as red in the face as a crimson bandanna handkerchief. 
For Jonas had quite a sense of the ridiculous, and the 
thought struck him as comical, how two men could sit 
down and talk seriously over a thing with all the sem- 
blance of truth, each one wishing to appear to the other 
as an honest man, while yet down deep in his heart 
each knew he was acting a sham, a lie. It was really 
funny, — a perfect travesty on human nature, — and it 
agreed with his philosophy, that there were more vil- 
lains within the law than there were outside of its pale. 
Yet such is the power of good, that though we wear deceit 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 135 

in our breast, we like to cover its ugly face with the 
fair and beautiful veil of truth. 

‘‘Keep within the law, Jonas, and you can be as big 
a scoundrel as you please,'' and Mr. Brand laughed 
again as if it were a splendid joke. “Damn me," he 
muttered under his breath, swinging himself around in 
his chair, “if 1 have not almost persuaded myself that 
Eleanor Stanhope is really insane. Not a question has 
been raised to the contrary by the Sisters, the Institu- 
tion, or the doctors. Jonas, the coast is clear; you 
have nothing to fear, old fellow. Eleanor Stanhope, 
you are settled for life." 

He rose, opened his desk, took from it a small iron 
safe, drew from his vest pocket a key, inserted it in 
the lock, the door swung back on its hinges, and re- 
vealed an elegant morocco jewel case. He lifted it out 
unclasped the lid, — ah! a flash and a gleam such as the 
stars set in the purple sky of night give forth. 

“Ah!" he chuckled, contemplating the gems, and 
seating himself again. 

They were a pair of large solitaire diamond ear-rings, 
each diamond almost as big as a hazel nut, and a lace 
pin of six stones a little smaller than the ear-rings. 
They were of the finest workmanship, the stones of 
the first water and their light a blue-white flame. 

“Ah! These are what led to the discovery of 
the fifty thousand dollars in bonds stolen from How- 
ard Stanhope on the night of the murder. But the 
murderer is still at large. They were bought on 
the very day he started for home, in one of the 


136 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

best and largest jewelry establishments in the West. 
The bill for them — three thousand dollars — was paid 
by a check drawn on Greenwich State Bank, of New 
York. The murderer stole them with the bonds, and 
gave them to his mistress. She, a few months after- 
wards, being in need of ready money, carried them to 
a broker’s, where they were identified and she was 
nabbed. The police were on her trail at the time. 
These were turned over to me by the business firm of 
which he was a silent partner. They were presuma- 
bly purchased for his wife. But as he had never given 
them to her, there is nothing to show that he ever in- 
tended giving them to her; and the law makes no pro- 
vision in cases like this for intentions. Therefore the 
law cannot hold that they were her personal property, 
should she ever come to know of their existence. How- 
ard Stanhope, you were a fool to waste money on 
gew-gaws like them for a woman. My! What beauties 
they are! Ah! My proud Eleanor, they will never flash 
in your ears, or gleam upon your fair throat, if 1 can 
help it. Ha! Ha! Jonas, nothing like living within the 
law.” 

He closed the lid, locked the jewel case, placed it in 
the iron safe, and locked the safe in his desk, intend- 
ing to give them into the keeping of his banker in the 
morning. 

He was just in the act of rising to leave for his hotel, 
when the door opened and a man entered with a sort 
of swagger, having under his arm a large sized volume 
wrapped in paper. He was about thirty years of age, 


i^EELING HIS PULSE. I37 

and somewhat below medium height. His slim figure 
was clad in a blue check suit, cut in the latest fashion, 
the round coat buttoning tightly across his chest, leav- 
ing a slight glimpse of his linen, but an ample display 
of a gay plaid silk necktie. Upon his small round head, 
where the dark hair lay close and thick, he wore a 
large gray soft felt hat, dented here and there and 
drawn over his forehead, shading the little deep-set 
eyes that shone from under heavy brows, like glistening 
amber beads. The nose flattened to a point at the end, 
and dropped over a light scanty mustache, a contrast 
to the dark hair and rather drew attention to than 
helped to conceal the large mouth that twisted very 
much to one side, as he said, touching his hat with his 
gloved hand : 

“Books, sar, a taste for books. Then you are a hap- 
py man. Best medicine in the world for man or woman, 
and I would Include the beasts, sar, if it war possible 
to teach them to read. I would say teach them, give 
them books. They are a great humanizer, sar. If 
you are sick, take up a book, and immediately the 
mind is diverted from itself, which is a sure cure for all 
bodily ailments. If you’re poor and down at the heels, 
sar, as they say, and get to feeling badly over it, just 
take up a book, and immediately you are transported 
to the drawing-rooms of the rich, gay and cultured. 
When you come home from a hard day’s work, after 
you have taken a slight repast, and you wish to while 
away an hour or two in the best society, take up a 
book. There you have the company of the jolly hon- 


138 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

vivant He will recount his best stories, give you his 
choicest motSy the philosopher his finest thoughts, the 
statesman his success in political intrigue, the man of 
science his latest discoveries, the poet his sweetest 
songs. If you have children, implant in them a taste 
for books, and the boys will walk in the straight and 
respectable path of their father. There will be no dan- 
ger of their committing suicide; and the girls will have 
all the grace and beauty of their mother. This is the 
wisdom, sar, of the sages. 

He stood in the middle of the floor, with his hands 
thrust down in his trousers pockets, the lid of his left 
eye half closed, the pupil of the right dancing and scin- 
tillating and seeming to grow smaller, as he drawled 
out his words one after another in a slow nasal twang. 

‘‘Take a seat,^’ said Mr. Brand, who, seeing that his 
visitor was something of a character, had become quite 
interested in him. 

The young man turned, gave a quick step, and drew 
a chair toward Jonas. 

“But, sar,'’ he said, touching his hat and swinging 
himself into the seat, “there is books, and books," he 
continued, as he took the volume from under his arm, 
and began unwrapping the paper from about it. “The 
thing is in knowing just what to read. But if you love 
books, ril be gurned if it won't come as natural to pick 
out what is good, as to pick out the girl you like best 
from womankind. I sold nearly a hundred thousand cop- 
ies of Dickens the last few years by subscription. But, 
sar, Dickens, you know, is Dickens. If you have read 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 


139 

him, I will wager you never spent pleasanter moments 
in your life. If you have not, what a treat is in store 
for youV* 

am not much of a collector of books/’replied Jonas. 

used to be quite a reader in in my younger days, but 
lately my profession takes up nearly all my time. Still 
1 have no objection to looking at anything you may 
have to sell/' 

‘‘A man, sar, must have some recreation aside from 
his profession. The law, sar, is dry, very dry. Now 
here is something good, — the chef d' oeuvres of the Paris 
Salon of 1876, sold by subscription at three dollars a 
volume, every picture a masterpiece of the graveufs 
art, and all by the finest artists. The reason we can 
sell them so cheap is that the plates were reproduced 
in this country, and this is the second edition. The 
only other one I ever saw of this kind was at the sale 
of H. A. Stanhope's effects. It was a copy of the first 
edition, and published in Paris. It was a most beauti- 
ful volume, sar; I should like to have bought it for my 
own library, but it went beyond my purse." 

Jonas Brand squirmed in his chair, and the blood 
came near bursting his cheeks, but he soon silenced all 
fear and apprehension with the thought, ‘‘What does 
this fellow know of Mrs. Stanhope.? And even if rumor 
has reached him, I have always remained within the 
law. Eleanor Stanhope is insane; her physician gave 
a certificate of her insanity, and of course she had to 
be placed in a private asylum to be taken care of." 

“As I am Mrs. Stanhope's attorney," he said, “and 


140 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

the administrator of Howard Stanhope’s estate, I am 
fully acquainted with the details of the sale of his prop- 
erty.” 

Mr. Brand frowned, clasped each arm of his chair with 
a white hand, swung himself around and gazed out of 
the window. 

The lid of the young man’s left eye dropped so low, 
that there was nothing to be seen but the merest speck 
of white, while the pupil of the right eye glistened from 
behind the lashes, no bigger than a pin’s head. 

‘‘Mrs. Stanhope, sar,” replied the young man, 
“seemed to feel very badly over the sale of the library. 
She informed me that her husband bought the chef d' 
oeuvre in Paris. By the way, sar,” he added, drawing 
his hat further over his forehead, “you would oblige 
me very much if you could give me the number of her 
residence. I ask simply as a book canvasser. From 
the conversation I had with her the day of the sale, 1 
judged she had a great love for books; and there is al- 
ways something new coming out, sar.” 

Mr. Brand sighed, leaned back in his chair and 
twirled his thumbs. Why should he not tell, as every- 
thing was done within the law.? 

‘*Jonas, old boy, nothing like keeping within the 
law,” he said to himself, as he adjusted his glasses, 
leaned forward, and glowered at the floor. But nothing 
could be more oily and suave than Mr. Brand’s man- 
ner, as he handed his visitor back the chef d' oeuvre, 
and replied in a low voice: “My dear young man, it 
grieves me to have it to say, that Mrs. Stanhope has 


FEELING HIS PULSE. 


I41 

been very ill for a long time, and the result is, that her 
mind has been very much impaired, and she had to be 
taken to St. Ursula's Asylum. She is there with the 
Sisters, and has all the care and attention that these 
good women, an eminent physician and money can 
give her. — Yes! Yes! It was the saddest and most pain- 
ful thing I was ever called upon to do, to place Eleanor 
Stanhope in an insane asylum, for she was a most 
estimable lady." 

Mr. Brand sighed, and his voice died away with emo- 
tion to a whisper, as he uttered the last syllable. Then 
he leaned back in his chair, adjusted his glasses again, 
and took a furtive glance at his visitor. 

Tom Tatum had drawn his hat so far over his face, 
as to effectually conceal all his features but his mouth, 
which twisted so much to one side that it almost 
touched the lobe of his right ear. 

‘‘By gums! You don't mean it," he replied, in his 
broadest nasal twang, gazing straight before him. “Tm 
sorry — she was a damn fine woman. Wal, sar, I thank 
you," he said, rising. “You'll not subscribe to-day? The 
chef d* oeuvre would make a little variety in your law li- 
brary. Nothing like variety, sar — the law is a pretty dry 
thing. Nothing like art, romance and sentiment, sar, to 
keep a man from groveling. Wal, good day, sar." Tom 
T atum touched his hat, went out the door, and as he got to 
the stairs, began to hum a few strains of his favorite song: 

I'm afloat, I’m afloat, 

On the fast running tide; 

The ocean’s my home. 

And my bark ’s my bride. 


142 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 

The weeks dragged their slow length at the Asylum 
into the middle of June. Every day Eleanor sat by the 
window, wrapped in shawls, trying to gain some little 
strength from the faint breeze that came now and then 
through the open sash. She had grown no stronger, and 
the heat and confinement began to tell on her already 
enfeebled constitution. Her appetite was precarious. An- 
imal food she had not touched for weeks. She had taken 
such a disgust to the badly and half-cooked, greasy stuff 
that Melina brought her, that she could not even taste it. 
There were things that she could eat — dainty things, 
that she longed and hungered for, such as a piece of 
broiled chicken, a broiled quail, or now and then a little 
oyster soup; — but they were not to be had! One day 
she did venture to ask Melina, if she “could by any 
possible means get her a small piece of broiled chicken.*' 
“Chicken!" cried Melina, dropping the tray on the 
stand and taking a corner of her apron, and throwing it 
over her left arm as she stood up stiff and stark, looking 
at Eleanor in such a way that poor Eleanor almost sunk 
through her chair to the floor with fright. “Chick- 
en!" she repeated, “where would I get chicken? — 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 143 

Well, Mrs. Stanhope, I did think you had a little sense. 
You’ll have to give your orders to Sister Beatrice,” and 
with that she picked up the tray and disappeared. 

“Well, there’s no pleasing them insane people,” she 
exclaimed to Hannah, who happened to be in the dining 
room when she entered. ‘‘Mrs. Stanhope wantin’ chick- 
en! Why don’t she get a room on central hall, if she 
wants chicken? They gets chicken there once a week.” 

‘‘It is what she should have, — spring chicken, and 
every little delicacy that would tempt her appetite and 
build up her system. The woman is wasting away, and 
dying for the want of nourishment. I have learned from 
Mrs. Stanhope herself that she can amply afford to 
have anything that will make her well and help to give 
her strength. I cannot understand why she is kept here 
and these things denied her,” replied Hannah, and, ris- 
ing, she left the room. 

Eleanor’s diet consisted now of a bowl of milk for 
breakfast and a little oatmeal when it was to be had, for 
they did not always have the porridge for breakfast, 
and when they did, it was dealt out as sparingly as if 
every grain was a pearl. Hannah would watch Elea- 
nor’s tray and add an extra spoonful to her dish; but 
Melina seldom gave her a chance, and Hannah would 
often wipe the tears from her eyes as she saw Melina 
bear off Eleanor’s tray in triumph, with its bowl of 
milk, slice of bread and two tablespoons full of oatmeal, 
just enough to cover the center of the saucer. At noon, 
for dinner, she would have a bowl of milk, a slice of 
bread and a dish of rice, whenever Hannah’s friend in 


144 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

the kitchen did not forget to prepare it. Sometimes 
she would eat a small potato, for Eleanor always liked 
a potato. For tea she would have a bowl of milk and 
a slice of toast. 

Day by day Eleanor sat by the window patiently, 
without a murmur or complaint. Sometimes she would 
sit for hours watching the trees throwing out long, cool 
shadows athwart the lawn, the light playing upon their 
leaves, as the warm winds swished through their 
branches. The lilacs had faded and fallen from their 
bush under her window, but the honeysuckles had 
grown and climbed up and about the summer house, 
until they nearly hid it from view, and they were now 
in full bloom, making a symphony of red and green 
and pink, with here and there dashes of gold, stolen 
from the sun, as it went on its course towards the 
west. Then again she amused herself by watching the 
patients, some walking arm in arm up and down, others 
sitting on benches under the trees, reading and sewing 
and apparently in pleasant conversation, while some 
would be playing games. 

She had much food for thought here. Her tastes, as 
we know, were intellectual, and she was more given to 
books and quiet than to the pleasures and gaieties of the 
world. But here were lessons she never would have 
learned if it had not been for her illness. Here was a 
medley of human beings that never could have been 
brought together and found but behind the walls of a 
convent, or some such institution. Here was a book 
she never could have read, — a phase of life, of hu- 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. I45 

man nature, unwritten, unpublished, — a book that all 
will read on the last great day when all the books 
are open. ‘‘And 1 saw a great white throne, and the 
books were open.’’ (Revelations, xx. ii.) 

But as she sat and watched, she reflected upon these 
verses: “And I saw a great white throne, and him that 
sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven 
fled away; and there was no place for them. And I 
saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and 
the books were opened : and another book was opened, 
which is the book of life : and the dead were judged out 
of those things which were written in the books, ac-- 
cording to their works.” And she thought, “How often 
are the laws of God broken, God’s commandments ev- 
erywhere set aside in our State government, city govern- 
ment, and in towns and villages; judges sitting on the 
benches, questioning not how they shall administer the 
law justly and rightly, but how they may evade it and 
pass upon it according to their interests, prejudices and 
passions. There is the law of marriage, the most sa- 
cred and holy law, — a law in which all the rest have 
their source, and concerning which God Himself made 
stern and awful commands, and which Christ spoke so 
decidedly upon to the Jews. Yet the courts grant di- 
vorce and separate the people as if they had been sp 
many cattle that had come together for a while to pro- 
pagate their young. Yet many of the men and women 
are married by their own consent, by the most sacred 
laws of God and the rites of the Church. If the State 


10 


146 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

assumes the right to annul the marriage tie, she should 
form her code upon the base of making adultery or 
drunkenness the only cause for which a separation and 
divorce can be' granted. She and the Church should 
also make laws by which to prevent the young from 
rushing into marriage before they are eligible. If not 
always like the young man in the Gospel, the young 
man should at least keep every commandment for sev- 
eral years before taking unto himself a virtuous wife. 
And then we would not see such sights as we see here. 
The Catholic Church boasts of practising the teaching 
of Christ. It does not admit of divorce. 

‘‘Here is a woman who passes up and down the hall in 
front of my door. They say she has been here twenty 
years. She is tall and very thin, her complexion the color 
of tallow, — a color all the patients take on after being 
here but a short while. Her hair, which was once a 
beautiful brown, is now streaked with gray, what is 
left of it, for even the hair decays and falls and breaks, 
leaving it short and straggly. She sits and sews for 
hours; then walks up and down the hall for an hour or 
two at a time for exercise. Hannah Cameron says her 
mind is beginning to fail her lately. Like Mrs. Gerald- 
us, she talks a great deal about going home, only with 
this difference, she expects to go home, and that every 
little while she makes every preparation for her jour- 
ney, and tells Hannah every day she is expecting her 
husband. But alas! the husband never comes. She 
has kept that up ever since she first came, — at least, 
since the memory of the oldest patient on the floor. It 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 147 

was the only ray of hope she had to cling to, and she 
has deluded herself with it all these years. Happy 
hope! How blessed thou art! Hannah Cameron says 
her father and mother have died since her incarcera- 
tion, and all her children but one daughter, and no one 
occupies the big stone-front mansion ih a distant city 
but the husband who never came for her. Then Han- 
nah shakes her head and leaves me to guess the rest, 
or think what I please. Yes, we persecute now in the 
light of the nineteenth century just as much as th^ 
did in the dark ages, — only our methods are different. 
We don’t put people to death, now. We lock them up, 
when we want to get rid of them. 

‘‘Oh! this moral blanket with which we cover our 
vices, leaving the cankerous sores beneath to eat and 
sap our vitality and lower our moral standard. Oh! if 
ever I gain my health and freedom, 1 shall cry out to 
the world all I have seen here; I shall tell the ministers 
to preach it from the pulpit. I shall go to the Catholic 
priests and tell them to stop their^pretenses before God 
smites them, and go and preach Christ’s beautiful, 
simple, and healthy precepts. 

“I have never feared anything but evil. I hate evil. 
Yes, upon that great day when the books are open, 
this book, that is written every day here will be read^ 
and the deeds of every similar institution all over our 
land and in all notions.” 

And as she thought, she longed to go out among 
them. 

“Oh!” she would cry in her heart, “if some one 


148 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

would take me even for a short while from this prison! 
If I could but go down the stairs and crawl as far as 
the summer house, — anywhere out of doors where I 
could breathe the fresh air, — I am sure I would soon 
grow strong,’^ (for she did want to live). 

But as she could not walk down the stairs, she 
would have to be carried; and Sister Beatrice had 
intimated to her one day, a week before, in a very 
decided manner when she mentioned to her how much 
she would like to be taken to the summer house, that 
‘‘if she couid walk down the stairs she would have 
Melina carry her chair and shawls,’’ and Sister Beat- 
rice turned away without waiting to hear another 
word. Eleanor never spoke to her again about going 
to the yard. 

Lately she had been thinking a great deal about 
Richard Alden. She felt sure that if he knew her dis- 
tress, how she had been deceived and betrayed to an 
insane asylum by her attorney, that he would come to 
her rescue. He was so noble and brave. She was 
sorry now that she had not replied to his note and 
acknowledged by a few lines the beautiful flowers he 
had sent her when she was first taken ill. But she had 
no idea that her illness would last as long as it had. 

One night, while lying in her bed, she dreamt of 
him; — she had been thinking of him all day, and of 
their first romantic love, the holiest and sweetest of all 
loves, and whatever was the cause of his silence. She 
was certain he must have loved her, and in some way 
she felt that he was very near her, never nearer than 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 149 

at that moment. And she cried out in the anguish of 
her heart and soul, ‘Hf there were any way by which 
he could hear her, if there were any subtle force by 
which thought could communicate with thought, come 
and deliver her from her cruel fate.’' 

Then she fell asleep and dreamed that she arose from 
her bed, and when she opened her eyes she found her- 
self in a strange room. And as she looked about her, and 
things became more clear to her vision, the room seemed 
very familiar on account of its art objects. It appeared to 
her that she had come there to deliver some kind of a mes- 
sage, and turning around in search of a person to whom 
she was to let her errand be known, she saw Richard Al- 
den seated in front of the grate where a low fire burned; 
and with the impression upon her that she was still 
confined in the Asylum, fell upon her knees and begged 
and implored him to come and release her from her 
bondage, — to rescue her from a fate worse than a liv- 
ing death. He looked at her pitifully, rose from his 
chair and began pacing the floor. She walked by his 
side, still pleading, for it seemed to her he did not quite 
comprehend her meaning. But as she followed him, 
she chanced to touch his hand, and her condition be- 
came more clear to him. Then she awoke, frightened 
at the vivid reality of her dream. 

Every morning Hannah Cameron came to her room 
and helped her to dress, and when she had her seated 
in her chair, she would comb out her long, dark hair 
and twine it into loose braids, and Eleanor would beg 
her to cut it off, as it must be a great care and trouble. 


ISO JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

She would say with a mirthless smile, ^‘And what does 
it matter what we look like, so that we are comfort- 
able?’’ 

“Nothing I can do for you is the slightest trouble. It 
only grieves me to think that I can do so little,” Han- 
nah would answer with a shake of her head, “and you 
would please me very much by never mentioning, not 
even to me, having your hair cut off.” 

Hannah never forgot her, never slackened in her 
attentions to her. At morning, at noon and night, she 
came to her room, as it had become a habit to her. 
Sometimes in the evening, if she had been detained in 
doing some kind act for a patient, or remained at her 
devotions in the chapel, as she frequently did after 
prayers when the other patients and Sisters had left, 
she would before retiring steal on tiptoe in her white 
night-dress to Eleanor’s room, her hair loosened and 
hanging down her back like a veil of golden strands, 
wrapping her shoulders, neck and bosom. 

Eleanor generally retired at dusk, and she would say 
to herself as Hannah chafed her feet with her own 
warm little hands, “That she seemed like an angel 
sent by God from her home in the regions of light and 
beauty to minister unto her.” Then Hannah would 
bring the cool drink and place it on a chair beside the 
bed, and the basin of water to bathe her head, so that 
she might rest better. 

There had grown up between these two women, in 
the short while they had lived together under the same 
roof, a deep and tender friendship, — a sympathy born 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 151 

of mutual conditions, mutual sorrow and suffering. To 
Hannah, she was a constant wonder, this pale, beauti- 
ful, high-bred woman, with her gentle manner, her 
patience and quiet fortitude. 

^‘CanH they see that this is no place for her; that 
she can never gain strength here?’’ Hannah would 
often say to herself, with the tears gushing to her eyes 
and the blood sweeping hot to her temples, as day by 
day she saw Eleanor growing more wan and weak. 

To Eleanor there was no name in the calendar of the 
saints that could compare with this little woman ^s, for 
her disinterestedness, self-sacrifice, self-abnegation, 
and her faith that shone like a beacon light, guiding 
and sustaining her on her weary, upward course. Some 
of this faith she had infused into Eleanor, who had 
more of the moral than the religious in her nature. 
While she was a believer, yet she had guided her life 
by high and noble principles, rather than spiritual 
teachings. But as one is dead without the other, the 
two when combined make a strong force in man or 
woman. 

Eleanor had bent her proud head and had partaken 
of some of Hannah’s humility, and learned the lesson 
we all must learn sooner or later, that we can do no- 
thing of ourselves. She had also come to know that 
there is nothing more frail than human nature; — that 
when alone, sick, helpless, and betrayed by those we 
trust, it is the old, old story of Paul deserted by Silas, 
Christ denied by his beloved apostle, Peter. 


152 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

Who was she then, that she should expect to fare 
better from human hands than her Lord? The more 
we see of the creature, the more we long to draw 
nearer the Creator. She also learned from this little 
woman, that there was One above who saw and heard 
all, and that if she would place her trust in Him, He 
would never turn from her. ‘Tor behold I am with 
you, and shall keep you, and shall not desert you.’^ 
Hannah did not convey these sentiments to Eleanor in 
words, nor did she give Scriptural quotations as they 
are here. Being a Catholic, she knew little or nothing 
about the New Testament, only so far as its teachings 
came to her through her Church. But Hannah was a 
Puritan in her way, and though the faith of her ances- 
tors was deeply rooted in her blood, and was bone of 
of her bone, and flesh of her flesh, she would have 
been the same self-sacrificing, self-denying being, if 
she had been a Methodist or a Presbyterian. She had 
simply the religion of Christ in her heart. 

“Who would ever dream of finding such a saint 
among the patients in a place like this?^^ Eleanor would 
often say to herself. “One might look for her among 
the white-bonneted Sisterhood and expect to find her 
counterpart, but alas! she failed to see her.^’ 

So each helped and sustained the other in their 
prison. Eleanor’s forbearance, patience, fortitude and 
strong moral nature was a constant stimulus to Han- 
nah. Hannah’s unselfishness, humility, her deeply 
religious nature, her beautiful faith in God, and in things 
unseen, was the light Eleanor needed, and was per- 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 1 53 

haps the secret of the peace and rest that grew upon 
her daily. From the kingdom of God, which is within 
us, a kingdom of heaven may unfold itself around us. 

One afternoon, as the month was nearing its close, 
Hannah came to Eleanor’s room, as was her wont now 
and then, to bring her sewing and embroidery and 
spend an hour or two, while Sister Beatrice joined the 
other Sisters in the chapel. It was one of those balmy 
June days, with warm sunshine, cool shadows, and 
soft breezes blowing everywhere outside. Eleanor had 
just risen from her after-dinner rest, and was seated 
by the open window, where the gentle zephyrs stole 
in and out, bearing on their wings a faint breath of the 
summer’s perfume gathered from country roads, shady 
lanes, wavy fields and rose-blooming gardens. She 
was clad in a gown of pale pink cashmere, with white 
lace trimming its front and sleeves, her dark hair 
bound in loose braids at the back of her neck. She 
was, as usual, wrapped in her warm shawl. Hannah 
seated herself in a chair beside her, unfolded a linen 
towel that she laid on her lap, and took from it some 
small square pieces of white silk and cashmere. This 
afternoon Eleanor for the first time spoke with great 
indignation concerning what she had seen in the Asy- 
lum since her confinement, and the wrong done to her- 
self and others. 

‘‘Certainly Sister Beatrice must know ere this,” she 
said, “that my mentality has not a shadow of disease. 
My mind was never more clear and lucid, or better 
balanced, and my sickness is physical and not of the 


154 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

imagination. And those who placed me here must 
know it without a doubt. If physicians would study 
human nature and the individual more, they would 
learn that imagination is a rare gift, that it is but one 
person out of every ten — yes, every hundred, — who 
possesses it. If imagination was as prolific as doctors 
make it out, there would not be so much trouble and 
hard work in the teaching and training of children. 
The child with imagination grasps the thing and sees 
it in his mind, long before the teacher reaches his con- 
clusions or finishes his explanations. Half of what we 
call insanity in these days, is evil habits, indulged in 
until they become insurmountable; bad dispositions; 
vicious tempers; and the lack of self-control. These 
Sisters do not seem to care whether I live or die. They 
take no pains to ascertain whether my illness is of the 
body or mind, or both, nor do they do anything to alle- 
viate my condition. My life is dear to me. The in- 
stinct to live is great in every breathing thing. God 
meant us to live and be strong, well, and happy, and 
make the best possible use of our lives. It is weak in 
me to complain, 1 own. 1 try all 1 can to refrain from 
it, when 1 look about me and see others here who are 
just as sane as myself. Only that this is a religious 
house, and to perpetrate these wrongs is not following 
the precepts of Christ. I can not think the Catholic 
Church would knowingly sanction such abuses. There 
must be some great moral apathy, or wanton blindness 
on its part, to allow such corruption to creep into its 
institutions.'^ 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 1 55 

Hannah never raised her head when Eleanor ceased 
Speaking, but kept it bowed low on her breast, and her 
small hands trembled visibly, as she drew the silken 
floss in and out, broidering the Agnus Dei on the white 
scapulars. The truth of Eleanor’s words pierced her 
heart and stung her to the very Soul with pain, as she 
thought to herself, ^‘Oh, no! no! God’s Holy Church 
cannot sanction corruption of any kind. Did not our 
Lord say it could not err? That He would be with it 
all days until the end of time?’’ 

Then her mind reverted back to her childhood, and 
her own sweet Emerald Isle, and the little low cottage 
that nestled down in the green valley a few miles from 
the sea, where the path wound up from the beach past 
its door. In a large front room of this, her home, there 
was a miniature altar erected, and there the old priest 
came on Saturday nights from the town six miles away, 
twice a month to say mass on Sundays for the old 
people of the village. She could see now his tall, spare 
figure, clad in a black soutane, his hair white as snow- 
rifts, falling away from his ruddy, genial face to his 
shoulders. 

How often she had sat on his knee, a wee mite of a 
thing, in her blue and pink homespun dress, her fair, 
round, earnest face shaded by her sunny hair, which 
fell in ringlets to her waist. He used to tell her mother 
that a child with such a face and hair should be conse- 
crated to the Holy Virgin. He was poor like themselves, 
and his home was a small cabin by the side of the 


156 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

little wooden church, with its earthen floor, its one 
altar and belfry facing the sea. 

And what a gala day it was when the weather was 
fine, and she trudged the whole six miles by the side 
of father and mother, on the first Sunday of every 
month, to hear mass! And after mass they would eat 
lunch on the beach; and how her blue eyes would try 
to follow the fishing sloops gliding here and there like 
phantoms through the gray mist, that slept on the 
banks, and crags, and cliffs, that seemed like en- 
chanted castles to her childish fancy. And she and 
her companions would play all the afternoon in the 
sand upon the beach, until the bell in the little church 
pealed out the Angelus, and the breakers caught up its 
tones and carried them far out to sea, then Drought 
them echoing back in their swish and swash against 
the shore. 

For forty years this old priest dwelt among them, 
caring for his flock as Christ commanded Peter to do. 
He married their sons and daughters, preached their 
funeral sermons, baptised their children, and minis- 
tered to their spiritual wants. Their sorrows were his 
sorrows; their joys, his joys. This was the Church in 
its purity and simplicity, its truth and sublimity; in the 
love, poetry and beauty of its faith. She would have 
thought it treason to read one word against her Church. 
Therefore, intelligent and well-informed as she was, 
she knew nothing of the Church of France and Italy in 
the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, or its workings; 
or how Savonarola, the martyred monk, lashed it with 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 1 57 

his prophecies, whipped it and scourged it with his elo- 
quence, to save it from the political intrigues that were 
polluting the white banner of the Cross. The tears 
glistened on her fair lashes, and her whole slender 
frame seemed shaken with suppressed agitation, as she 
reached over and laid her small, .trembling hand on 
Eleanor’s shoulder. 

do not blame you,” she said, ‘Tor thinking as you 
do. The things you see done here, while they may 
have two sides, the one we cannot see or understand, 
yet they cannot help but be appalling to your sense of 
right, truth and justice. But, dear, the Church has 
nothing to do with them. God’s Holy Church cannot 
err. The Catholic Church is the one true and apos- 
tolic church. Our Lord says, ‘He that will not hear 
the church, let him live as a publican and a heathen.’ ” 
“My dear Miss Cameron,” replied Eleanor, taking 
the small hand in hers caressingly, “I fear 1 have 
pained you. I would not wound your feelings for the 
world. So far as our religion is concerned, it is the 
same — the difference is only in the expression of it. 
Christ’s teachings are the same the world over, no 
matter what church expounds them. But it is these 
very things of which I speak that have made so many 
infidels and unbelievers. I myself, while 1 have not 
practiced religion, and have not your faith, yet have 
ever had in my heart belief and reverence for God’s 
mysteries. To-day one part of the world has turned 
its face away from Christ, and gone daft on all sorts of 
philosophies, as it did before His first coming. The 


158 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

other part cries, ‘We want truth; we want facts, pro- 
ven facts/ There are truths that cannot be placed as 
facts, yet they are of the highest, and greatest, and 
most sublime. Leaving Christ’s Godhead aside, and 
take Him but as a man. He was the incarnation of all 
that was perfection, the highest ideal that has ever 
been given to the world, — so high that after nearly two 
thousand years,the world has failed to understand Him. 
Tolstoi says that, ‘In His teachings lie all religion, law 
and philosophy.’ Christ Himself asserts, ‘I am the 
way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh to the 
Father but by me.’ He was the new dispensation, the 
message of God to His children. God cannot deceive 
us; He will therefore keep His promises with us, if we 
live within His law and keep His commandments. I 
am speaking now of spiritual truths, — scientific facts 
are another thing. Flammarion, the genius of Astron- 
omy, in ‘Urania’ and ‘Lumen,’ throws much light in a 
scientific way on the immortality of the soul; but he 
has marred his work somewhat by encroaching too 
much on the spiritual. It is so with other writers who 
are trying to prove the immortality of the soul on a 
purely scientific basis. God does not work in that 
way. We look for a sign, but no sign shall be given 
us. He is not going to reveal to arrogant men, on their 
demands for proof, what He sometimes refuses for 
years to those who have sought Him in belief, faith 
and prayer. My dear Miss Cameron, to.-day the Lord 
Christ stands again before Pontius Pilate ; the world is 
asking, ‘Shall we accept this man as the Son of God, 


THE TEARS GLISTENED ON HER FAIR LASHES. 1 59 

or reject Him?’ And happy are those who accept 
Him, and have faith in their hearts. Much of this 
existing condition is the fault of many so-called 
Christians.” 

A faint color had stolen into Eleanor’s cheeks, and 
her eyes looked like two great deep, dark wells, from 
which were emitted sparks of white flame, as she 
leaned her head wearily against the back of her chair. 

Hannah had listenea to her with a heart wrung with 
pain, mingled with pity for those whom she thought 
lost. How could they reject her Saviour, or turn away 
from Him? Was it any wonder, then, that they were 
were tossed about by every wind that blew, and fol- 
lowed all sorts of vagaries, and raised unto themselves 
strange gods? For the heart of man or woman is ever 
reaching out for something beyond this life. She knew 
nothing of unbelief. Her faith had kept her whole, 
and it was to her as the sunlight is to the day, in her 
darkest hours of sufferings. She felt that, without her 
Lord, she would have gone mad and died years ago, a 
raving maniac. 

‘‘Woe unto those who give scandal,” she murmured, 
without raising her head, and Eleanor saw something 
Jike a tear fall on her hand, as the deft fingers wove in and 
out the silken floss and seamed the edge of the scapular. 

“What I wished to say,” began Eleanor, interested 
in her subject, “leaving religion aside, is that the 
wrongs done here are the result of absolute power 
placed in the hands of a few persons over the human 
beings brought here; the confidence reposed in the 


l6o JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW, 

Sisters by the friends and relatives of the parties given 
into their charge. The confidence of the whole Cath- 
olic world, which they have, is in itself absolute. As 
soon as that door is locked on a patient, they are re- 
sponsible to no human being, but to God and their 
conscience. The conscience is a very slippery thing, 
and we know that it is only the few that can bear 
power. So corruption steals in. Because these wom- 
en wear white bonnets and a habit, they are not 
infallible. They are just as full of weaknesses as you 
or 1, and when absolute power over the individual is 
placed in their hands, they are just as liable to abuse 
it. Every institution like this, whether religious or 
secular, should be held amenable to the law. The 
State does her people great injustice, when she does 
not make strong and strict laws in regard to these 
things, and especially insanity, and see to it that they 
are enforced.’’ 

“My dear Mrs. Stanhope, I agree with you in all you 
say. I could not put what I think into words like you, 
but willingly would lend my voice and aid to prevent 
abuses. But you see it is useless to talk or dream of 
such things. We are like babes in their hands. We must 
only wait, and hope and trust that God in His own good 
time, will open for us the door. — There is Sister Beat- 
rice, I must go,” she said, caressing Eleanor’s hand. 

And, folding the towel about her work, she slipped 
silently out of the room, as Sister Beatrice turned the 
key in the heavy lock that opened the door leading into 
the central hall. 


HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS! 


i6i 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS! 

It was a Sabbath morning. Outside, the weather 
was perfect. The first few days of July still wore the 
mantle of June. The patients were crowding the lawn, 
the walks, and the benches under the trees, as they 
generally did on Sundays. Eleanor was sitting in her 
usual place by the window, Hannah having just left 
her, when Mrs. Linton came in. 

Mrs. Linton was a constant visitor to Eleanor’s room. 
She tripped in and out many times a day. The reason 
for these calls being repeated so frequently was a con- 
stant dread of Melina or Sister Beatrice coming sudden- 
ly upon her while speaking with Eleanor, as intimacy 
between the patients was not countenanced by the 
Sisters. She would run out at the sound of every 
footstep, only to return again when she found her 
alrrms were false. She would often stop in her per- 
ambulations up and down the hall, when she came to 
Eleanor’s door, which generally stood ajar, and putting 
her head half way in, would remark to her in a very 
low voice that she was saying a Pater and an Ave for 
her benefit, and that she had just offered a decade of 
beads for her recovery. 


II 


i 62 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

'^Oh! You are going to get better. You will see. 
You will be up and walking about in a few weeks.*’ 
She would then put her fingers to her lips, wave her 
hand, as much as to say, “Sister Beatrice or Melina is 
coming,” and pop her head out of the door. While 
her case was almost as pathetic as Mrs. Stanhope’s, 
yet her drolleries amused Eleanor greatly; and she 
never came to her room but what she brought a smile 
to Eleanor’s face. 

“1 wish you could come with us,” she said, rubbing 
her thumb and forefinger up and down her ivory rosa- 
ry, wt ’ch shone white and translucent against the 
thin b) texture of her dress, which was made-over 
black, n. “She and 1 are going to the lawn for a 
walk, morning is so fine.” 

“You mean Miss Cameron,” said Eleanor, smiling. 

“Hush-sh! I never mention names. One never 
knows when that horrid Melina is spying around, and 
she is such a tale-bearer. I do not want this door 
closed against me. I should feel dreadfully to be for- 
bidden this room.” 

“Why should you be forbidden to come here.^ I 
think your life is barren enough, without depriving you 
of a few moments’ conversation with me, if it is any 
pleasure to you, — it certainly is to me,” replied 
Eleanor. 

“My dear, it is the Sisters’ mode of discipline.” 

“I did not know there were any particular methods 
of discipline in purgatory. I thought it simply a sizz 


HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS! 163 

ling fire where each and every one was at liberty to 
roll around and find the coolest corner possible/' 

They both laughed; Mrs. Linton winked and tripped 
to the door, came back, and whispered, ‘‘She's ready. 
I wish I could carry you down to the lawn. She would 
help me, but we are not permitted." 

A few moments later there was a faint knock at the 
door, and Mrs. Geraldus entered. She was clad all in 
white, and looked so quaint, picturesque, and fantastic, 
and so out of place with her surroundings, that she 
seemed to Eleanor a being of another world Her dress 
was fresh from the laundry, and was of the finest and 
sheerest mull. Around the bottom, which swept upon 
the floor in a train nearly a yard long, there were sev- 
eral narrow ruffles of Swiss needlework, very much 
frayed at the edges. Between these ruffles was an 
insertion of the finest Valenciennes lace, and about the 
space of every finger or two, was a rip of an inch 
wide, made by the point of the flatiron separating the 
lace from the mull. The front of the robe was a mass 
of lace and ruffles, all slits and rips. The over-dress 
was made of a kind of loops of the lace and ruffles, and 
hung down in long sashes at the sides and back. The 
long sleeves were also made of the lace insertion, and 
had two of the narrow ruffles of Swiss reaching from 
the wrist up the elbow to the armhole. Thrown care- 
lessly over her shoulder was a scarf of white China 
crepe, embroidered in blush roses, which enhanced the 
golden tinge of her swow-crusted hair, that was drawn 
high up in a knot on the top of her head. In her hand, 


i64 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

which like Lucile’s, ‘‘was fit a fay’s wand to wave,'* 
she held a fan of costly mother-of-pearl and point iace, 
that, perhaps, played a part at many a ball and recep- 
tion, and like the most of her attire, had seen its best days. 

“I expected to see you on the lawn this lovely 
morning. Mrs. Linton and Miss Cameron have just 
gone down,” said Eleanor, a bright smile coming into 
her eyes at the sight of Mrs. Geraldus. 

“I have quite a vivid imagination, and whatever 
benefit or enjoyment I might derive from the out-door 
air, those high brick walls would destroy. I could not 
rid myself of the impression that I was in a jail,” she 
replied, holding up the front of her robe, and gazing 
upon a small, dainty foot, in a low bronze slipper and 
open-work hose, peeping from under her skirts, that 
were all lace and ruffles, like her dress. 

“You are looking better,” she observed, seating her- 
self in a chair, Eleanor’s vis-a-vis^ where she had a 
view from the window of a stretch of the lawn, “or is 
it the shade of your gown that gives just a perceptible 
tinge to your cheeks?” she added, placing her lorgnette 
on the tip of her nose. “Pale pink is very becoming 
to one of your complexion, hair and eyes.” 

She adjusted her glasses, swayed her fan to and fro, 
and leaned back in her chair. 

“I should care very little about the color of my gown, 
dear,” replied Eleanor, “if I could but grow better. If 
1 could go out into the fresh air, which would help me 
to grow strong, I should not mind the brick walls. I 
would put them out of sight, dismiss them from my 


HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS! 165 

mind, if I could but sit under those trees yonder. The 
sense of catching a glimpse of the blue sky through 
their branches, while the leaves, stirred by the soft 
winds, rustled and sighed above rny head, would be so 
delicious that I would forget the whole place, but not some 
of the friends who are confined in it, including yourself. 

‘‘You should make that agent of yours provide you 
with a maid. You cannot receive the attention you 
require here without a private maid. The wretch! He 
ought to have sent you to the seashore; that would put 
some coleur de rose in your cheeks. The sea,’" she 
murmured, reflectively, can sniff the salt water 
now, and its cool, refreshing breeze — nothing like it, 
dear. I think 1 can see Narragansett Bay, and the 
cottage where father, Lilian, myself and Leon, my 
husband, spent the last few months of father’s life. It 
stood quite near Chief-Justice Chase’s mansion, and 
was owned by my father before the war. Heigh-ho! 
Home, sweet home! Dear beloved home!” 

She sighed, dropped her fan on her hand, raised her 
lorgnette to her eyes, and continued: ‘‘Of course, you 
have heard of the Warrens of Kentucky. They were 

neighbors of ours in L ville, and their cottage was 

not far from ours at the Bay. Miss S. Warren had 

been married twice; her last husband. Dr. H , was 

very wealthy. She was still young, and in the full 
zenith of her reign, a beautiful woman, and a social 
queen, when I made my debut in society. What de- 
lightful times those were!” she murmured, her eyes 
brightening, and her whole face changing to youthful 


l66 JONaS brand ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

archness, as pleasant memories of long ago flitted 
through her mind, and stirred the blood to warmth on 
her sallow cheeks. 

“It was at Narragansett Bay the summer before the 
breaking out of the war, that I first met Leon Geraldus, 
my husband.’’ The flush died on her cheek, the bright- 
ness from her eyes; she gave two or three airy flutters 
to her fan, raised her glasses to her eyes, gazed out of 
the window, and inquired, “Who is that tall gentleman 
walking alone under the porch over at the men’s 
quarter? I have been observing him for some time. 
He is quite distinguished in appearance.” 

“I think 1 heard someone say he is a minister,” re- 
plied Eleanor. “1 see him walk there frequently.” 

“A minister!” she exclaimed, turning from the win- 
dow, and looking toward the door. “And how came a 
minister to such a place as this?” she said, thoughtful- 
ly, dropping her chin upon her breast, and leaning 
her head upon her hand, her arm resting on the back 
of her chair. 

As she sat there, with her profile turned towards 
Eleanor, the graceful contour of her head, the delicate 
features, a charming mixture of the classic and piquant, 
over which mingled a dash of sadness; the lithe body, 
with the limp and willowy droop, clad in white robes, 
every line of which blended into some fantastic curve 
or twist, she certainly was a study for an artist; and 
he might have searched a lifetime and not have found 
another such for his brush. 

She picked up her fan, opened and shut it, gave a 


HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS! 167 

toss of her head, and turned to Eleanor, who had been 
watching her intently. 

‘‘You have heard me say that father was a banker. 
He was twice a millionaire, which was a rare thing in 
this country before the war. Father's loans and secu- 
rities were mostly in the South. He owned, with our 
city residence, which was considered the handsomest 

;n L ville, a good deal of real estate, besides our 

country house, a large stock farm, and about a hundred 
slaves. The blacks from all the farms in the State 
deposited their little savings with father. In those 
days, the negroes on the farms were generally given a 
small piece of ground to cultivate for their own use. 
Father did everything to prevent an outbreak. He was 
a Union man, but a Kentuckian to the bone. He would 
go with his State. For six months he had been paying 
out heavily, and about three months before the first 
gun was fired on Sumter, the crisis came; but father 
stood it bravely, — he was the very soul of honor. The 
day of the run on the bank, he never moved from his 
place behind the tellers, until he had paid out one mill- 
ion and a half in gold. Father said the negroes should 
be paid their savings with interest. He sold his coun- 
try house and stock-farm, and gave his own blacks, 
about a hundred in all, their free papers. He knew 
the war was coming on, and that it eventually meant 
freedom to the negro. He could have sold them, but 
father was such a gentleman. He was the very soul 
of honor. He did not believe in slavery, but most of 
our slaves were his inheritance. They belonged to 


l68 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

my grandfather. Father never sold a slave. They 
were born, lived and died, on the farm, and at our city 
house. After the failure, many thought it would break 
off the engagement between Leon and myself, but 
Leon was rich, and loved me. Six months after father's 
bank closed, we were quietly married and went abroad; 
father and Lilian accompanied us. We remained 
abroad during the war. It was a rest to father, but he 
never was the same. After the war, we returned to 

L ville, and to our own home, our city residence. 

It was given by father to mother, and she settled it on 
Lilian and me, when she died. Father would have 
disposed of it, but friends interfered. Leon wanted 
father to go into business again, but father's day was 
past. He belonged to the old regime. The South was 
broken and crushed, and his sympathies were with her. 

‘‘About a year after returning home, he died. An 
hour before he departed, sitting at his bedside, I leaned 
my head over on his shoulder. He raised his hand, 
and began to softly stroke my hair. ‘It seems but 
yesterday,' he said, ‘since I brought your mother, a 
bride to this house. It was my bridal gift to her. How 
beautiful she was! Gentle as a dove, with hair like the 
golden light,when the sun first dips its beams below the 
horizon, and faintly tinges the sky with red; eyes like the 
violet of the skies at dusk when the stars begin to light 
it.' His hand ceased stroking my hair. I raised my head. 
His eyes were turned away and seemed to be follow- 
ing something in the room, and in a second he was gone. 
Oh! father was poetical, as well as a great financier. '' 


HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS! 


169 

She picked up her fan and handkerchief, rose from 
her seat, and glided to the door, came back and stood 
before Eleanor. 

‘‘Pardon me,’’ she said, with a toss of her head, and 
giving two or three airy wafts of her fan, as she assumed 
a gay mood. “I fear I have bored you.” 

‘‘On the contrary, I have been deeply interested. I 
sympathize with you greatly,” replied Eleanor, feeling 
that every back bore its cross. 

“It is bad form for one to inflict one's troubles on 
another. Feeling should be kept out of sight, only to 
be i-ndulged in behind the curtain of one's boudoir, and 
the nursery.” She laughed lightly, turned away from 
Eleanor, and as she went out of the door, she sighed, 
“Home, sweet home! Dear, beloved home!” 

In a few seconds she returned, holding up both hands, 
her handkerchief in one, and her fan in the other, her 
whole manner changed. 

“Did you hear them last night? They kept up such a 
telephoning, and all about me. There were nearly twen- 
ty of them going at once. I had to rise and stop such 
base detraction. It was fearful. 1 told them to desist. If 
they didn’t I would have them all arrested. How dare 
they! I am like Caesar’s wife, above suspicion.” 

Her face flushed red, she wiped the tears from her 
eyes, turned away, and glided out of the room. 

“What a pity,” thought Eleanor. “Perhaps if she 
were taken out of this place, and had something to 
amuse her, she would get better. It is dwelling upon 
her troubles that causes this slight aberration of mind.” 


170 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XV. 

IT IS A SHAME CRYING TO HEAVEN, TO GOD. 

Sunday tea was generally earlier than on week days, 
Melina's face, as she laid the tray on the little stand in 
front of Eleanor, was all smiles. Melina's smile was 
peculiar unto herself. She had a way of puckering up 
her lips, until they resembled a little round ball of sponge 
with a hole in the center. Of late, she had become 
quite confidential with Eleanor, and used to drop in, 
after the removal of the tray to the dining-room, to have 
a chat. But the chat was all on Melina's side, as poor 
Eleanor stood in perfect awe of her, and merely an- 
swered yes or no to what she said. 

‘‘There, Mrs. Stanhope, is your supper. I brought 
you a pot of tea, an' it's nice an' hot." 

Melina had been gone but a few seconds, when there 
came a light trip, trip, and the door, which generally 
stood ajar, was opened and Mrs. Linton, with a very 
mysterious air, stepped in. She stood a moment by 
the door, put her head out, scanned the hall up and 
down, then drew back; closed the door, tripped on tip- 
toe across to where Eleanor sat, stood a second, her 


IT IS A SHAME CRYING TO HEAVEN, TO GOD. 171 

eyes searching the tray, then thrust her hand down in 
the pocket of her dress, and drew out a large piece of 
molasses cake. 

‘‘There,’’ she said, with a smile, her eyes snapping 
as she laid it on a plate before Eleanor. “I am sorry 
it is not angel cake, or cream or cocoanut cake, but it 
is fresh and warm, and a change. I thought you would 
like a piece, just for the variety of the thing. I asked 
that Melina to fetch you a piece, but she picked up her 
tray and walked off. Thinks 1, my lady,” and her black 
eyes snapped and twinkled, “I will circumvent you. 
This slice was put aside for breakfast, I suppose.. I 
thought it no harm under the circumstances to appro- 
priate it. The only way to deal with that kind of 
woman, is to circumvent her. — 1 like to get ahead of 
her; it does me so much good.” 

Her eyes fairly danced, and a broad smile lit up her 
face. Eleanor equally enjoyed the satisfaction it gave 
her to get even with Melina. She went to the door, 
stood a moment, put her finger to her lips, waved her 
hand, and tripped out. 

Eleanor had retired for the night, when Melina came 
for the tray. 

“You are late,” said Eleanor, wondering at Melina’s 
delinquency, as she often made Eleanor miserable by 
bobbing her head in and out several times while she was 
eating, — it was Melina’s way of hurrying the patients. 

“I just tells you, Mrs. Stanhope, there’s no doin’ 
nothin’ with them insane. It’s just work, work, all 


172 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

the time. Not that I wants to bother ye, or talk to ye 
to disturb ye, Mrs. Stanhope, but there’s a way of doin’ 
things to lighten the work, and there’s a way of not 
doin’ ’em that makes it heavy. If Sister Beatrice is 
delicate an’ not feelin' well,” she drew closer to the 
bed and lowered her voice to a whisper, “why don’t 
she get missioned off, or take a rest, or let them that 
knows how to do it, have authority. I says to her, 
^Them that’s not bad, strap ’em down short, and them 
that’s bad, strap ’em long.’ ” 

“What do you mean by strapping them?” asked 
Eleanor, trembling with fear as she saw, looming up in 
the dusk, Melina’s ill-looking visage. 

“Why, Mrs. Stanhope! I thought — ” She was going 
to say, “I thought you had sense,” but she checked 
herself. “Does ye think them insane ’d lie down all 
night if Sister Beatrice and me didn’t strap ’em to the 
bed? But there’s a way of doin’ it. It’s just as safe 
to strap ’em short every time. There’s Mrs. Milford. 
We has to muff an’ strap her to the bed every night. 
It’s too terrible — she’s so strong. It nearly kills me to 
hold her down while Sister Beatrice puts the muff on 
her.” 

“That is the reason she cries, and calls, and begs and 
prays all night,” said Eleanor, who felt at that moment 
wicked enough to wish that poor Mrs. Milford had 
killed Melina. “Why do you muff her? What is the 
object in strapping the poor creatures to the bed? I see 
no insanity about Mrs. Milford, only that she makes 
war to get out.” 


IT IS A SHAME CRYING TO HEAVEN, TO GOD. I73 

‘‘Why, Mrs. Stanhope, she's a suicidist!" 

cannot believe it. No woman who could pray so 
earnestly and fervently to her God, and beg so pitifully 
to be released and go to her children, would take her 
own life. Her children would keep her from it, if she 
had any inclination that way. Besides, 1 have never 
heard her in all her talk with the Sisters and the doc- 
tor make any threats to that effect; and I can hear 
every word that is said between her and them. There 
is one thing certain. If she is detained here much 
longer, and keeps up the continual warfare she does, 
her mind must eventually give way. No mind can 
stand the strain and suspense, no matter how strong; 
for it is a mental fight. I think the reason for strapping 
her to the bed is more to make her docile and obedient 
than the fear that she will commit suicide." 

It had grown quite dark outside, and just a faint glim- 
mer from a gas jet burned in the upper hall. It was 
well for Eleanor that she could not see the expression 
of Melina's face. It was white with rage, and the thin 
lips were ashen with tne spite her cowardice forced her 
to keep in check. 

‘‘My! My! Mrs. Stanhope!" she muttered under her 
breath, with a smile that v\^as more evil than the look 
on her face. ‘Hf Mrs. Milfoi d wasn't controlled, muffed, 
and strapped to the bed at R^ght, she'd had herself torn 
to pieces afore mornin'." 

Just then the bell rang to call the Sisters to evening 
prayers, and Melina rose and departed, and as she took 
long strides down the hall, she muttered to herself: 


174 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

“They says that Mrs. Stanhope has her mind. It 
proves them that says it has no sense left, and Sister 
Beatrice would hold me up in it, if she heard her talk 
like I has just now.’’ 

Hannah had come in and performed her usual little 
services for Eleanor, and had gone when Sister Beatrice 
made her rounds after prayers, to bid good night and 
lock the doors. She never locked Eleanor’s door. Mrs. 
Milford’s room, which was opposite to Eleanor’s, was 
left open also, for some reason best known to Sister 
Beatrice herself. 

The night was extremely sultry. Not a breath of 
air seemed to be stirring. The effect of the heat and 
the short conversation she had had with Melina and the 
indignation aroused in her by it, annoyed and greatly 
oppressed Eleanor. While sleep was often a stranger 
to her eyes, yet she would sometimes lie for hours in a 
half wakeful, dreamful repose that was very restful. 
But to-night she felt exceedingly disturbed. She had 
in a sense grown used to Mrs. Milford’s petitions and 
prayers, — that is, if anyone of Eleanor’s temperament 
could ever become used to another’s sufferings. Elea- 
nor had much that was philosophical in her nature. 
She knew that, no matter how much she desired it, she 
was powerless to help. At first, Mrs. Milford’s groans 
and cries had almost driven her to despair; but lately, 
she had often fallen asleep with the moans ringing in 
her ear growing fainter and fainter, until she lost con- 
sciousness. 


IT IS A SHAME CRYING TO HEAVEN, TO GOD. 175 

It was nearly midnight when she succeeded in com- 
posing herself, and was soon lost in dreamland, where 
she wandered until brought back by hearing the Ange- 
lus, which rang at five in the morning. She knew that 
Sister Beatrice was at prayers, and that mass was said 
in the chapel a little after five. Mrs. Milford was call- 
ing for Melina to come to her, which of course Melina 
did not heed, as six o’clock was that lady’s hour for 
rising. 

‘‘Now is my chance,” thought Eleanor. “Her door 
is open and her room is opposite mine. It is but a few 
steps, and I can walk it. I will see for myself.” 

She rose up and slipped on her low shoes. She was 
in her night dress, and guided and pulled herself along 
by the wall, and in a second she was in Mrs. Milford’s 
room. 

It was a strange and appalling sight that met Eleanor 
Stanhope’s eyes, — one that chilled her blood to the 
very marrow, and made her shiver as with cold. Lying 
on her back in the bed, with a strong leather strap 
around her waist, buckled and fastened at the back 
with a small padlock, was Mrs. Milford. Attached to 
each end of this strap were bracelets of strong, stiff 
leather, that encircled her wrists, and in some way 
held a stiff leather muff, that confined her hands. A 
strong, wide strap of leather was brought across her 
stomach, and fastened to each side of the bed by steel 
buckles and springs; her knees were also strapped in 
some way to the bed. She could not move her body 


176 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW, 

hands or feet from the one position in which she had 
been placed on her back. There she had to lie the 
whole hot, stifling nights through, and could turn neith- 
er to the right nor to the left, nor find a moment’s re- 
pose on one side or the other. There the fair, fragrant 
mid-summer dawn broke through her window, all un- 
heeded by her. The sunbeams parted in the east the 
long rifts of silver clouds, tingeing them with blush-rose 
and opalescent hues, and made golden ripples on the 
dingy walls above her head. Beneath in the court, a 
red-bird in a tree caroled forth its greeting to the awak- 
ening day in rich liquid song, that rang out and up till 
it seemed to pierce the blue heavens for the very joy 
of living and being free. But the glad morning looked 
upon her, showing in her the baseness to which human 
tyrahny and cruelty will descend. ‘‘Oh! truly does 
man’s inhumanity to man make countless thousands 
mourn.” 

“My God!” cried Eleanor, clutching the bed-post for 
support, “How can You permit such things.? How can 
You let such cruelties exist? You poor thing!” she 
moaned, laying her hand on Mrs. Milford’s head, and 
brushing the damp hair from the white face, which was 
whiter than the pillow on which it rested. 

Mrs. Milford ga^ed at her with a wild, hunted ex- 
pression in her eyes, not at first knowing whether she 
was friend or foe, but Eleanor’s sympathy soon put to 
rout all fear, and she smiled and asked: 

“For the love of mercy, the love of God, do loosen 
these straps!” 


IT IS A SHAME CRYING TO HEAVEN, TO GOD. 177 

‘‘Oh! for a knife!’’ cried Eleanor, trying to unfasten 
the buckles; but her delicate fingers had as much effect 
on them as a cat’s paw. “Oh! If I had my old strength, 
1 would tear them asunder and set you free, and defy 
the whole Institution. I cannot believe, but down deep 
in every human breast there is some sense of right and 
and justice. All it wants is a little moral courage to 
bring it forth. Evil is always a coward, and cannot 
bear the light, and must find hidden places for its work. 
This thing cries to Heaven, to God for shame, that one 
of His creatures, guilty of no crime, should be so pun- 
ished.” 

She pulled again and again at the straps and buckles, 
but they only tore and lacerated her tender flesh. Then 
she reeled back, caught hold of the bed-post for sup- 
port, swayed to and fro, and fell to the floor, the blood 
trickling from her fingers. 

The only thing that ever saved Eleanor Stanhope 
from lunacy and death, from the day she entered the 
Asylum until this morning, was her non-resistance, her 
complete letting go of herself, her entire surrender to 
God and His will. She was physically a wreck, it is 
true. She had no strength to make a noise, and even 
if she had, she would have had no desire to do so. She 
had a strong will and fine mental capacity. It was the 
mind that went out and took in and grasped the situa- 
tion. Here was a huge machine, controlled and gov- 
erned by a system as inexorable as death. Once the 
individual was in its clutches, once its iron hand was 
12 


173 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

laid upon you, it was either submission to its will, or 
be ground piecemeal to idiocy. 

Mrs. Milford was in the full vigor of health and strength 
and mind when she first came to the Institute, when 
she found herself decoyed to the place by those she 
trusted. Her fright, terror, and the agony of the base 
treachery knew no bounds. She had worked very hard, 
and wished to take a few days’ rest in some quiet place; 
and she knew from the moment she stood behind its 
walls, that this place was to be her home for life. And 
from that day to this morning, when Eleanor stood over 
her bed, she had kept up a constant war. All day and 
all night, she wailed and cried, talked and demanded to 
be released. And when her pleading and crying failed, 
she prayed to be let go home to her children. 

Then there was a hand laid lightly on Eleanor’s shoul- 
der. She turned and saw Hannah Cameron standing 
by her. She was dressed in deep black, and thrown 
over her head was a long mourning veil, that hung down 
and nearly touched the hem of her robe. In her hand 
she carried a prayer-book. She was on her way to the 
chapel to attend mass, which she did without fail every 
morning. 

‘‘Come away! Rise! Come to your room, Mrs. Stan- 
hope. For the love of God, come quickly! This will 
make you ill,” said Hannah, helping her to rise, and 
drawing Eleanor’s arm through hers, and leading her 
back to the room. “Never do this again,” she said with 
sternness, as Eleanor lay prostrate on her bed. “It is 
fortunate that Sister Beatrice did not see you — you can 


IT IS A SHAME CRYING TO HEAVEN, TO GOD. 179 

do Mrs. Milford no good by interfering, but you do 
yourself a great deal of injury. You do not want to be 
suspected and watched, and have your door locked at 
night. The nights are very warm, and will be from 
now until September.’’ 

Hannah stepped closer to the bed, and, taking 
Eleanor’s hand between hers, she continued, deeply 
agitated: 

‘‘Dear Mrs. Stanhope, it would grieve me to the 
heart to see those poor hands of yours manacled, which 
they would be if you were to interfere, or show the 
least resistance,” and Hannah took her fine silk hand- 
kerchief, and wiped away the blood that trickled from 
the wounds on Eleanor’s hands. 

Eleanor lay speechless with horror and fright. She 
knew all Hannah said was true, — knew also how poor 
Mrs. Milford had fought for her liberty. She had just 
come from her room, and the spectacle she presented 
would haunt her until her dying day. 

Then there came a click of the heavy lock turning 
in the door that led into central hall. It was opened by 
one of the Sisters, to allow those of the patients who 
were waiting to go into the chapel to attend mass, to 
pass through. 

Eleanor looked up; Hannah had gone. 


l80 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. 

BOTH Eleanor and Hannah were silent in regard to 
the occurrence of the early morning, when the latter 
came to her room as was her custom after breakfast. 
Eleanor tried to banish it from her mind, and felt that, 
if she could, she would by one sweep of her hand blot 
it out forever from her memory. She was glad Hannah 
did not refer to it. She could understand now the cal- 
lousness she had observed in many of the patients to- 
wards those who were insane. It was the result of 
their long confinement which made them appear so 
indifferent to what they could neither help nor amend. 
She also must learn to close her eyes to what she saw 
and heard. The truth came upon her in all its force, 
that the gaining of her health and strength depended 
solely on her liberty. 

Since her incarceration she had put aside all regrets, 
every thought of the past, her former happiness, her 
dead husband, and Richard Alden. She never allowed 
herself to dwell for a moment upon them. She must 
fight bravely for life; to give up for one second meant 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. l8l 

death. But with all her patience, her fortitude, her nat- 
ural hopefulness and the rest which had been given to 
her of late, she could not, since her visit to Mrs. Milford’s 
room, shake off the depression that lay like a heavy 
load on her heart. 

She was sitting with her face buried in her hands, 
trying to choke down her sobs and bitter resentment 
that rose up against the man whom she had trusted 
with her affairs, her fortune and her personal safety, 
when she fell ill, and who had so cruelly and outrage- 
ously wronged her, when Sister Beatrice entered the 
room and handed her a letter, which had been opened, 
and of course must have been read. 

“It is from your guardian,” said Sister Beatrice, with 
a pleasant smile, a slight blush suffusing her cheek, as 
she added, “He is to call this afternoon; he sent a note 
to the Sister Superior to that effect. He thought to ac- 
quaint you with his coming beforehand, so that he 
would not take you unawares, and give you plenty of 
time to get ready.” 

“My guardian!” said Eleanor, her dark eyes flash- 
ing, as she looked straight at Sister Beatrice. “Then 
he must be self-appointed. I have no relatives; none 
of my friends outside know of my incarceration here, 
and he has not been chosen by me.” 

For a second their eyes met; then instantly Sister 
Beatrice veiled hers behind their mantle of silken fringe. 

She was quite pale as she replied, “I know nothing 
of the gentlemen, only that he is the manager of your 


i 82 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

and your husband's estate. He seems to be well dis- 
posed towards you, and certainly must have had some 
authority to have placed you here." 

Her cheeks flushed, and she drew the cloak of her 
reserve about her. 

‘‘His authority is entirely self-invested, and you know 
it/* returned Eleanor, with calm decision. 

From the first day Eleanor entered the Institution 
until that moment. Sister Beatrice with all her vigil- 
ance had never been able to detect in her the least 
evidence of insanity. She had reported as much to 
the Superior; and in doing so she felt that she had done 
her duty, and whatever action was taken remained 
with Sister Doris, the Superior. She had done the 
same by others, but it had always rested there. Sister 
Beatrice, when perplexed by any matter of conscience, 
kept her vows of poverty, chastity and obedience con- 
stantly before her; as long as she obeyed, she was safe 
from that sin of the fallen angels. Pride. 

Eleanor and she had seen but little of each other, 
and what little intercourse they had together, was al- 
ways pleasant. Eleanor had never before asked the 
cause or the reason of her incarceration, nor had she 
made a scene when she was first brought to the Insti- 
tution, as was generally the case with most of the pa- 
tients whether sane or insane. But Sister Beatrice 
knew that when Mrs. Stanhope would speak, no power 
of hers or fear of the Superior, not even her own feeble 
health, could keep her from proclaiming the truth; that 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. 183 

delicate as she was, she had a reserve force that would 
aid and sustain her in the most trying ordeals. She 
had lived a free, open broad existence. All that was 
small, mean, false and secretive had no part in her com- 
position. They were the chaff, which she flung from 
her sieve to the ground when searching for the golden 
grains of all that was good, brave, beautiful and true; 
which she kept cultivated and gave ample room to grow 
and expand with the years as they glided past day by 
day. 

In that one flash of their eyes Sister Beatrice knew 
that she was no enigma to Eleanor Stanhope, that she 
had divined those depths in her nature which she had 
been trying to conceal, and that she stood before her as 
an open book. It was the electric spark of sympathy 
that stirred to flame all the hidden, subdued yearnings 
of her life; and she longed to tear off her white coronet 
and gray habit, and throw herself at Eleanor^s feet and 
cry: ‘‘Give me freedom!” She longed to say, “Do 
you think these hands would ever be guilty of what 
you saw this morning, if I had my way?” But her 
vows rang in her ear and kept repeating, “Poverty, 
chastity and obedience.” 

Chastity was hers, her lover and spouse. Poverty, 
— that was but a semblance, a name. She could find 
plenty of the real down in the slums, alleys and by- 
ways of the city. Obedience — obedience to the Divine 
Will, to God, always; but to a system, forbidding all 
impulse to human affection — a system, so small and 


i84 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

petty in its tyranny that little by little it evolves itself 
into a despotism that crushes as with an iron heel. A 
rule that dwarfs, cramps and fetters the soul as with 
bands of steel, and can only result in narrowness, self- 
ishness and decay, and the annihilation of all individu- 
ality, which in itself is degrading. It is by fostering 
and building up individuality, that we elevate the hu- 
man race. Sister Beatrice saw these things only as 
through a glass, dim and opaque, but she felt them 
deeply, and it was what she was ever warring against 
herself. 

‘This is pride and rebellion, obedience whispered, 
as she stepped back a pace or two and stood cold and 
calm, as Eleanor continued. 

“The certificate by which you hold me, as you are 
well aware, is spurious, and paid for by Mr. Brand. I 
am alone, and he has all I possess in the world. When 
I fell ill, this man, loving money as he does, and know- 
ing me to be alone, saw a chance to hold it, and gratify 
a secret revenge he harbored against me. He thought 
the shock of finding myself in such a place as this in 
ny present condition of ill health, would either kill me 
or drive me irrevocably insane. But a kind God inter- 
posed and frustrated his well laid plans. I am still in 
his power, I know, but you deprive me of the right to 
acquaint my friends. I can neither appeal to the law, 
or a lawyer to aid me. Even my letters are opened 
and read before I receive them. You give this man 
absolute power over my person. There is no law for 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. 185 

this; I am my own keeper. As long as I live within 
the law, my life belongs to myself and God who gave 
it. 1 have a right to seek health, strength and happi- 
nesswherever I can find them. I cannot recover here 
in this six feet by ten cell. My illness should be in it- 
self a mute eloquence, begging day by day for mercy 
and relief, but your eyes have been shut and your ears 
closed to its pleading. Now I consider you and the 
Sister Superior equally as culpable as Mr. Brand; he is 
a man of the world, with all the selfish passions and 
ambition of a man, loving only the things of the world, 
and what he thinks the world places the most value on. 
You are women, holy women, wearing the garb of re- 
ligion, and you should have some pity for me. Now I 
appeal to you and to Sister Doris to give me my liber- 
ty, for to be shut up in here is worse than a living 
death.’’ 

Sister Beatrice seldom stood to listen to any argu- 
ment a patient might make in her behalf, but Eleanor’s 
words held her as though she were rooted to the spot. 
The reserve behind which she generally took refuge, 
now fell away, and she seemed to shrink within her- 
self. Her face was as colorless as the wings of the 
white coronet which overshadowed it. The nose was 
pinched and the drawn lips were ashen in hue; only 
the eyes, those tell-tale eyes, glowed, and burned and 
scorched the long lashes that trembled and quivered 
with their heat, as she said hoarsely : 

^‘Mr. Brand placed you here. Mr. Brand can take 


l86 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

you out when he chooses. Sister Doris has been fully 
informed as to your mental condition.’’ . 

Again she had conquered; again pride and rebellion 
had been put to rout, and obedience had triumphed. 

"‘My God, pity me!” cried Eleanor, leaning back in 
her chair. For a moment all hope in her was crushed, as 
she realized the full meaning of Sister Beatrice's words, 
that Jonas Brand was the sole master of her person, 
her jailer, who alone held the key to her prison; that 
she might as well with her own delicate hands try to 
wrench from their fastenings the heavy irons that barred 
her window, as to break one link in the chain of laws 
that governed these women and their institutions: they 
were as inexorable as death. Had she not seen enough? 
Why should she have flattered herself with the hope 
that they would make an exception in her case, when 
she had Mrs. Milford for a daily lesson? She would 
never forget the object that met her eyes as she entered 
her room that morning, — no, not until memory died 
within her. What could she do, poor weak thing? She 
was like the young fledgling that is trapped, caught 
and caged; and like it, she might beat her feeble wings 
against the iron bars of her prison until she fell dead; 
that is all it would avail. 

She picked up the letter and read it. It was but a 
few lines, stating that in her present nervous condition 
he feared to call upon her unannounced, as it might 
excite her too much, and cause delay in her permanent 
recovery. 

It struck Eleanor that the note was the work of the 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. 187 

Sister Superior, (Mr. Brand was of too coarse a fiber to 
ever dream of such a thing) and that under the pretence 
of delicacy and forethought, it would carry the infer- 
ence to her that they considered her condition both 
physically and mentally weak. 

It was after dinner, and she was sitting by the win- 
dow, clad in a long, trailing robe of silk, its lusterless 
black relieved by a narrow ruffle of white crepe inside 
of the high neck- band. Thrown over her shoulders 
was a small white shawl of India silk, a souvenir of her 
grandmother. She had for some time discarded mourn- 
ing in the sick room, but when dressed or receiving 
visitors, she still wore her widow’s weeds. Hannah 
Cameron had bound up the heavy braids of hair, and 
fastened them in a coil at the back of her neck. She 
sat with her head bent, her cheek resting on her hand, 
trying to curb the tumult that raged in her bosom. 
Several times she shivered, seemingly with a chill, as 
her thoughts, passionate and vehement, warred with 
each other. But she must beat them back; she must 
prepare herself for the ordeal. To meet this man, she 
must be mistress of herself, her feelings, and her phys- 
ical weakness. She did not hear Sister Beatrice’s step, 
until she stood before her, and informed her that Mr. 
Brand awaited her in the parlor. Eleanor had asked 
permission to have Mr. Brand shown to her room, but 
it had been denied, as, being a private insane asylum, 
it was against the rules to allow gentleman visitors in- 
side the hall. 


l88 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

Jonas had taken the most scrupulous pains with his 
toilet, and he was as bland and suave as any man per- 
fectly pleased with himself could be. When Eleanor 
entered the room, leaning on Sister Beatrice’s arm, he 
rose, smiled, and crossed over to escort her to a seat; 
but she recoiled from his touch and held to Sister Beat 
rice’s arm until she reached a chair that stood near the 
mantel-piece. Sister Beatrice then left the room. 

The light from a window just in front of her fell full 
upon her, as she stood with one hand leaning on the 
back of the chair for support, the other toying with the 
fringe of her shawl, which had partially fallen from one 
shoulder, its soft meshes lost in the folds of her long black 
robe that swept the floor. Her large dark eyes, hot as an- 
thracite’s burning glow, giving warmth to the marble 
features, flashed one glance into his as he took his seat 
again, and crouched beneath its fire. There was a 
beauty, a majesty, a queenliness about her, that no 
physical decay could mar; a something that he felt had 
always risen superior to him, risen above all his perse- 
cutions, his schemes not only to kill her body, but to 
destroy her reason. As all things pertaining to mind 
come from within, and work outward, Jonas had made 
and formed his plans from his own code of ethics, 
which were of the flesh and the senses. Eleanor’s tri- 
umph also came from within. It was her intellect, 
her spirituality, the soul in her, which rose dominant 
and above the physical. 

To Eleanor, as he sat there cringing under her gaze, 
he was all that was mean, unmanly, grovelling and 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. 1 89 

cowardly. He had betrayed every confidence reposed 
in him, and outraged every trust. She could under* 
stand how a man, when all his passions were aroused 
to a deadly anger, his blood seething in his veins and 
flashing through every fiber of his being with the quick- 
ness and white heat of lightning might kill his brother 
man, or with brain maddened to frenzy by jealous 
hate, might at a detected infidelity strike down and 
slay the woman he loves. But this despicable craven 
who took advantage of her illness, her helpless woman- 
hood to destroy her by a merciless revenge, carried on 
under the guise of friendship and the moral cloak of a 
man living strictly within the law, — she would like to 
to have hissed in his ear all the contempt, scorn and 
loathing she had for him. If she could at that moment 
by some deadly insult, convey to him all the indignant 
resentment she felt at his cruelty and the humiliation 
he had subjected her to, she would have found strength 
in her small white fragile hand to have struck him 
with one blow to the ground at her feet. 

But she beat back the tumult in her breast that raged 
and fought for utterance. Besides, she knew that out- 
side the door wings of white coronets fluttered, noise- 
less feet trod up and down the hall, and pale faces 
watched and listened. It was the trial scene of her 
sanity. Should there be any loud talking, any recrim- 
ination, these holy women would rush in upon her, 
and with a feigned sympathy for her supposed condi- 
tion, cry, ‘Toor thing! She is so nervous!’’ and then 
and there slender fingers would manacle her arms and 


igo JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

wrists, and confine her hands and lead her back to her 
room, with consciences perfectly at rest as to her in- 
sanity. There, with all hope gone, she could pray 
hourly for death, or wear out the long years in a living 
tomb. 

‘‘You have not kept your word with me,’’ she said, 
seating herself and looking straight into his face, her 
large eyes like two deep, dark volcanoes, emitting 
sparks from the fire that burned within her breast, be- 
lying her outward calm, as she continued, ‘"You pro- 
mised to come in a few days, and take me away. It is 
now nearly nine weeks since you brought me here. 
Am 1 to infer that this long delay has been caused by 
your not being able to find the desired cottage, with a 
garden, flowers and trees, and a suitable woman to take 
charge of it and myself? Although you have been si- 
lent all this time, and your note to me this morning 
has made no mention of it, you have come to tell me 
all is ready, and 1 am to leave this place?” 

His face had turned scarlet, then purple, and was 
now saffron in its hue, as he squirmed in his chair, 
crossed one leg over the other, coughed, twirled his 
thumbs, his prominent eyes almost bolting from their 
sockets, and answered her evasively : 

“1 have been very busy. I am sorry to say I have 
not been successful in finding a house compatible with 
your taste, and at the same time your purse. It is hard 
to find such a place in the suburbs at this time of the 
year.” 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. I9I 

He bent his head, and glanced furtively towards her 
from behind his glasses. 

‘‘You must have known the character of this place 
when you brought me here. You deceived me then, as 
you are trying to deceive me now. You told me it was 
a hospital, when you well knew it was an asylum for 
the insane.^' 

The blood rushed to his face, almost bursting his 
cheeks, but they paled somewhat, as he replied: “When 
I brought you here, I acted upon the advice of your 
physician. 

He coughed, cleared his throat and gazed at the wall. 

“Dr. D was not my physician, but I must say 

that he was very kind. You and he must have held a 
consultation, as his ideas of my illness seemed to have 
been in perfect accord with yours. At least you made 
it to his interest to diagnose my case so as to agree in 
all particulars with your views of it. There are deeds 
which a man plans to carry out against his fellow man, 
that are dark and heinous crimes. He first begins by 
making himself believe the justice of them; then by do- 
ing all he can to make others see them in the same 
light. He will stop at nothing, no matter how base, 
cruel or treacherous, if it will but lead to their achieve- 
ment, and the gaining of his own selfish ends. Since 
you have succeeded so well, you should have had some 
compassion for my illness, and at least made my sur- 
roundings comfortable, — something in accordance with 
my means and my former mode of living. The dower 
alone, which I am entitled to in my husband's estate, 


192 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

without speaking of my own personal property, which 
amounts to thousands, and all in money, is sufficient to 
provide me with a maid and all the delicacies and lux- 
uries a sick woman requires. As it is, you have de- 
prived me of even the decent necessaries of life. Why, 
my negro chore boy had a better room in my stable 
than you have given me.’’ 

Jonas Brand’s face was purplish blue, and his blood- 
shot eyes seemed to leap from his head with anger. 
She had pricked, scorched and stung the vain show of 
morality with which he screened his dark deeds, and 
by her simple plea laid them open and bare before him. 
He hated her for the very truth of her words, her clear 
divination of his motives, and the despicable position 
she placed him in. 

There is a touch of vanity and moral cowardice in us 
all, so that when our faults are broached, even though 
by loving lips that would fain pass them over, that pain 
to speak of them only for our better guidance, we have 
not the courage to stand up and say, ‘‘Yes; they are 
my failings. I commit them in a moment of weakness. 
The next time I will try to be stronger.” What then 
must it be with a man like Jonas Brand? He had 
crouched and cringed in moral cowardice before Elea- 
nor’s moral courage, which stirred all the evil in nim 
to hate and rage. He could have risen up and crushed 
all the feeble life out of her as easily and with as little 
compunction as he would that of a cat. He felt that if 
he did not accede to her wishes to take her out, which 
meant exposure and the relinquishing of her property, 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. I93 

she would remain a living ghost, to haunt his footsteps 
all his after years. 

When Jonas learned that the shock of her incarcer- 
ation had not killed her, he expected after so long a 
time to find that while not really insane, her mentality 
would be in such a weak state that it would be easy to 
persuade her that her confinement was a necessity, 
and that he had simply carried out the doctor’s advice; 
that he would still continue to care for her property, 
look out for her interests and remain her best friend; 
and that she would eventually fall back into imbecility. 
‘‘Man proposes, but God disposes.” 

He took out his watch, looked at it and rose. 

“I must be going. 1 will call Sister Beatrice,” he 
said, directing his gaze to the opposite wall. “I see 
you are no better.” 

“Stay!” cried Eleanor, rising, her tall wasted form 
bending and swaying like a reed in the wind; her eyes 
deepening, expanding and glowing like hot coals that 
burned red spots on each cheek, heightening the pale 
beauty of her clear cut features. 

He still kept his gaze directed to the opposite wall; 
he dared not look toward her, for he feared and dread- 
ed that unspeakable something in her, which had always 
quelled and silenced the mad passion by which he 
sought to win her, and for which, when out of her 
presence, he hated her. 

“If you think by this deception and cruelty to force 
me into a marriage as unholy as it would be unlawful, 
13 


194 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

let me say here and end once for all any hope you may 
harbor in that respect, that I would rather live out all 
my days in suffering, want and neglect, buried in that 
small cell yonder, shut out from God’s light and air, 
and deprived of that blessed freedom, which is the joy 
and sunshine of existence, than that you should for one 
moment pollute me with your touch. You have no 
right to hold me here. There is no law giving you the 
sole custody of my person. To keep me here is a crime 
crying to God for vengeance, and He will avenge me. 
But if it is my money you want, take it all. Draw up 
the papers, and I will sign over to you every dollar, ex- 
cepting so much as will keep me until I grow strong, if 
you will but give me my liberty.” 

He never moved from where he stood in the center 
of the floor, with his back to her; but his face was black- 
ened and disfigured by rage and all the evil passion in 
him that had risen up against her, and silenced what- 
little pity and mercy there might have lurked before in 
his breast. But when she spoke of signing over to him 
all right and title to her money, there came a strange 
green glitter into his eyes, a sort of glowering exultant 
gloat overspread his countenance, as the thought with 
all its hideous joy came to him, that it was an easy 
way to get rid of her and avoid an exposure, and still 
be master of her gold. 

‘‘You can have even my dower in my husband’s es- 
tate,” continued Eleanor, frightened at her words and 
all they meant, and drawing her hand across her brow 
to shut out the spectre that intruded itself between her 


THE TRIAL SCENE OF HER SANITY. 195 

and her foe, of facing the world friendless in her blight- 
ed youth and shattered health. But she waved it 
aside and said: 

‘‘And what is more, when I am free, I will never 
raise my voice against you to reclaim one cent of it. 
Only release me and take it all.’’ 

Eleanor had just finished her sentence, when Sister 
Beatrice, who had heard every word, entered. 

Jonas, who never did anything in a hurry, and 
wished to have time to deliberate over Eleanor’s offer, 
turned to Sister Beatrice. 

“1 fear,” he said, with a smile that was not pleasant 
to see, the love of revenge still uppermost in his heart, 
“that Mrs. Stanhope is not so well as you thought.” 

There was something terrible in the expression of 
Sister Beatrice’s face, as she looked into Jonas Brand’s, 
and then crossing over to where Eleanor stood, she 
placed her arm about her waist, drew her toward her, 
and led her kindly out of the parlor back to her own 
hall, and left her at the door of her cell. 


196 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 

GlyN Place and its inhabitants had browsed and 
drowsed the long not summer months in the midst of 
cool shadows, green swards and vines that twisted and 
climbed over porches, hedgerows and fences, and shot 
their tendrils out in vinous disregard of the pruning- 
knife, and clasped hands with the roses, pinks, peonies 
and geraniums, and kissed and embraced in sweet shy 
confusion, while outside, the city smothered and swel- 
tered in the heat and dust, and fanned itself for a fresh 
breath of air. 

It was an August evening, the hour whenGlyn Place 
generally awakened from its afternoon nap, and com- 
menced to bestir itself by opening the shutters, windows 
and doors, before beginning preparations for the even- 
ing meal, which its dwellers, who still adhered to the 
old custom of noon-day dinner, termed tea. 

Glyn Place at this hour was an Eden of beauty, with 
the lowering sun throwing long slender beams of light 
through the maples, and spanning the roadway with 
bars of gold. Dove Wing was a perfect bower of cool 
breezes, color and perfume, with now and then the 
twitter and trill of a bird in its trees, that broke upon 
its quiet and repose like a distant note of melody. But 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 


197 

Dove Wing had other signs of life. The doors and 
windows were all thrown open, and in the dining-room 
were heard the click of knives and forks, and the sound 
of merry voices at the evening repast. 

Sitting perched on the railing of the porch was Chute, 
in himself an evidence that the family were not far off. 
Chute had already dined. He had just finished lapping 
a large saucer of sweet milk, that Eliza never forgot to 
furnish him, as soon as she had placed the meals on the 
table; nor did Chute for a second allow Eliza to forget 
him. The minute the breakfast or dinner bell rang, 
he sprang up from whatever part of the house or yard 
he happened to be in, and came bounding to the kitch- 
en, and such a purring and rubbing he would keep up 
against Eliza’s feet and skirts. 

‘'Ochre, but ye ’re the bold Chate,” she would say, 
shaking her finger in his face, as she would stoop down 
and lay the saucer of milk, or dish of meat and potatoes 
before him. “It’s no wonder ye ’re slick and fat, ye 
Hector, It’s too pampered ye are, ye Hector. If it 
wasn’t for Master Teddy, an’ the mistress hersilf, the 
divil a drop 0’ milk ye would get from me for a week.” 

These words were as familiar to Chute as his three 
meals, for Eliza generally wound up by caressing him, 
and declaring him a beauty, which he was, and he 
knew there was no danger of his going hungry. 

No young gentleman of fashion, preparing for an 
evening reception, could be more fastidious about his 
toilet, than Chute at this moment. He licked and 
fleeced himself until his coat shone like a piece of 


IqS JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

purplish gray satin; then he took his fore paws, opened 
wide his toes, and manicured his nails with the points 
of his sharp teeth, did the same with his hind paws, 
washed his face, gave his coat another brushing down, 
and stretched himself full length on the balustrade, his 
fore paws in front of him, his hind legs gathered up un- 
derneath him, and his tail curled at his side. In this 
position, half asleep and half awake, but always on the 
look out, he rested until the family had dispersed. 

Teddy was quite excited over the sudden coming 
home of his Uncle Dick, who sat at the head of the 
table, looking handsomer and browner than when we 
last saw him. Yet there was a troubled, preoccupied 
expression on his face, an impatient nervousness in his 
manner, which he tried hard to conceal under a gra- 
cious affectionate courtesy to his mother, and a gentle, 
pleased attention to Teddy’s quaint remarks and ques- 
tions about all sorts of things that interest a boy, — 
whether the ships were large at Newport, and if he 
saw many of them, and how he, Teddy, would like to 
be a sailor, and command a great ship, and carry it to 
distant countries. They did not expect his Uncle Dick 
from the seashore until the middle of September, but 
he had informed his mother that he had received a dis- 
patch from a friend in the City, the nature of which 
required his immediate return. 

Teddy was to go to the country the following day, to 
spend a few weeks at the farmhouse of a schoolmate 
of his. There were two other boys invited, and they 
were to have splendid sport, fishing and hunting. 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. I99 

Teddy was loath to leave his grandmother with no 
one but Eliza in the house. He was but a boy, of 
course; but even a boy is a great protection to lone 
women, and Teddy was full of brave courage and chiv- 
alry for the weaker sex. He had his Uncle Dick for 
an example, and his Uncle Dick's mother had imbued 
him with all the respect and reverence due from man 
to woman. He had heard her say, no matter what 
the questions of the day were, or what women clamor- 
ed for, a man never lost his self-respect so much as 
when he was rude to a woman. They did not always 
deserve or command his respect, but nevertheless it was 
a better passport to being a gentleman than a dress coat. 

Teddy's grandmother insisted upon his going, how- 
ever, for she wanted him to have all the fresh air and 
outdoor sport he could get during his vacation, so as to 
be ready for his studies when school commenced again. 
And now since his Uncle Dick had come home, he 
could with a mind perfectly at rest leave Eliza and his 
grandmother. They would be safe from all harm, and 
he would have a jolly good time. 

‘‘But what has brought Uncle Dick home.?" he asked 
himself, as his brown eyes shot bright dancing glances to- 
wards Richard. “He was to be absent until fall. Could it be 
possible there was anything wrong with his business ? ' ' 

His grandmother would know if there was trouble in 
the air, and she looked too well pleased; indeed, as she 
sat there pouring out the tea and listened to her son's 
relation of the many pleasant incidents of his journey, 
she was the very picture of happy content and serenity. 


200 JONAS feRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

By the time they had finished their repast, Teddy 
had forgotten the queries that first disturbed his mind 
concerning his Uncle Dick’s unexpected presence. So 
he made a hasty exit from the table, bounded onto the 
porch and down towards the barn yard, calling to Chute 
to follow him. Chute rose, stretching himself and 
yawning, humped up his back, gave a leap and sprang 
after the boy, stopping to run up the trunk of a tree or two, 
then down again, just to show what a gymnast he was, 
but coming in a fifty yards ahead of his young master. 

Richard Alden went upstairs to his studio, which his 
mother still designated the library, but to Teddy it was 
Uncle Dick’s ‘‘Den,” and to Eliza Mr. Alden’s “Din.” 
Richard had seated himself comfortably by an open win- 
dow, with a cigar and the evening paper, when there came 
a ring at the front door, and in a second or two there 
entered the studio unannounced a slender gentleman of 
thirty years or thereabouts. He was evidently expec- 
ted by Richard, who rose, extended his hand, saying: 

“Well, my dear fellow, you see I have made pretty 
good time since I received your dispatch at Newport. 
Half an hour later, and I would have been gone with a 
friend on a three weeks’ cruise in his private yacht. Be 

seated. 1 wired you at G , and your presence here 

to-night is, no doubt, the response.” 

“I received your message just as I was leaving the 
smoking-room of the Hotel Louvre. You see, sar, 
there’s a good deal in a name, although the poets say, 
‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ 
Wall, — yes, sar, there’s nothing like pleasant associa- 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 20l 

tions; not that my Inn is on as grand dimensions as its 
namesake in Paris,butit’savery comfortable place, sar.^’ 

The gentleman smiled, dented in the crown of his 
gray felt hat, folded up the brim on each side, and 
crushed it between the palms of his hands, until it was 
as flat and slim as a child’s paper cockade. Then he 
laid it on the table, and seated himself near the book- 
case, in front of an open window. 

^‘Have a cigar,” said Richard, placing a beautiful 
Japanese lacquer holder, filled with the best Havanas, 
before his visitor, then resuming his seat. 

‘‘Delicious!” exclaimed Tom, as he sniffed its flavor 
of one and bit off the end. “It’s perfume is equal to 
the wild June rose; and many a one have I plucked 
from the roadside fences on my tramps.” 

“You are not only a reader of books, Tom, and of 
human nature, but external nature as well,” said Rich- 
ard, who not only found in Tom Tatum an interesting 
character, but had a supreme faith in his shrewdness 
and sagacity, and feltwhateverhegavehim todo, inthe 
way of ferreting out wrong and double dealing, would be 
accomplished in time. For Tom Tatum, though slow, 
was a tireless and indefatigable explorer in his calling. 

“Wall, sar, this is a strange world, but a man can 
git a wonderful lot out of it, if he knows just how to 
take it, sar. But it’s the knowing how, sar. If not, 
sar, it’s as full of contradictions and obstinate as a wo- 
man when in a contrary fit; and there’s nothing in 
heaven or earth more vexatious than a contrary woman 
— ^the proverbial mule is nothing, sar, for a man can 


202 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

git satisfaction out of a mule with a whip, — but a wo- 
man, sar, — you jist got to sit and grind your teeth, and 
sing under your breath, ‘Patience, old boy.’ But it’s 
a beautiful world for all, sar. It has lots of information 
to give and secrets to tell. And thar again, it’s like a 
woman, — awfully shy, sar, and wants any amount of 
coaxing; but when you once gain its confidence, you’ll 
larn and hear something new every day. Wall, sar, 
we must get to business. I have the pleasure of an- 
nouncing to you, it’s about the neatest piece of work 1 
have done in a long time.” 

Tom Tatum leaned his dark round head against the 
back of the chair, thrust his hands down in his trousers’ 
pockets, and dropped his left eyelid. 

“Wall, sar, after our long talk that day, when you 
gave me your suspicions consarning the disappearance 
of Mrs. Stanhope, I gave the matter a good deal of 
thought, and came to the conclusion that the first thing 
to do was to find the name of her attorney and to make 
his acquaintance, which I immediately proceeded to do.” 

Then Tom related in his own quaint manner his visit 
to Mr. Brandis olfice, and what he discovered there. 
When he came to speak of Eleanor’s insanity and her 
incarceration, an expression of horror passed over Rich- 
ard’s face, leaving it deadly pale. His magnificent dark 
gray eyes seemed to grow white and contract with the 
intense pain that lined his brow. 

“I cannot believe that Eleanor Stanhope’s mind is 
impaired!” he exclaimed, rising and pacing up and down 
the floor, his whole form seeming to have taken on 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 203 

twenty more years of life. ‘‘She was not of that kind 
of a constitution. She had too much balancing power, 
too much reserve force. If there was anything of the 
kind, it was but temporary, caused perhaps by the shock 
of her husband^s murder. I believe the whole thing 
to be a plot to put her out of the way, and gain pos- 
session of her money. He has taken advantage of her 
loneliness and illness to accomplish this. Howard Stan- 
hope was rich and had a large insurance upon his life 
in his wife's name. You also inform me that he is the 
administrator of her husband's estate; that is evidence 
enough of his villainy." 

Tom gave token of acquiescence in Richard's feelings 
by running his hands several times down in his trou- 
ser's pockets, and again taking them out to arrange his 
gay neck scarf. Then he took his pocket handkerchief, 
and beat a tattoo on the toe of his boot for several sec- 
onds, then blowing his nose, placed his handkerchief 
back in the side pocket of his coat, leaned his arm across 
the back of his chair, and with his mouth twisted very 
much to one side, said: 

“True, sar, true. But you'll not take on so hard, if 
you wait and hear me out. You'll find that J. Brand, 
attorney at law, is not so safe in the arms of its majes- 
ty as he thinks. When once Tom Tatum gits his op- 
tics on the right man, he generally sees more than the 
color of his hair and eyes and the coat on his back. 
Lord, sar, there's the inner man. A man's life and 
deeds are all written on his face, sometimes in lines 
hardly parceptible, and legible to but a few, — a sort of 


204 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

cipher, sar,— but it’s thar, as sure as you live, it’s thar. 
But it takes long experience, sar, and a little of the 
natural gift of observation to be able to make it out. 

‘‘Wall, sar, when I left J. Brand’s office, attorney at 
law, I went to my room at the Louvre, and laid my 
chef d' oeuvres aside. The next morning I made a care- 
ful toilet, donned my Sunday clothes, took my cane, 
and made a call at a certain private hospital and inquired 
for Mrs. Stanhope, the widow of the late Howard Stan- 
hope. I pretended to be distantly related to the lady, 
— all’s fair in war and love.” 

The lid of Tom’s left eye dropped lower, while his 
mouth gave an extra twist, indicative of a smile. 

“The information 1 received,” he continued, pretend- 
ing to gaze at the wall, “was that Mrs. Stanhope had 

left thar in the early spring, to go to a sanitarium at B . 

I know B — well, sar, — every street and corner of it, 
and every farmhouse for miles around it; and I am as 
familiar with the roads leading from it and into it, sar, 
as you are with your right hand. It’s the prettiest town 
in this whole country, a regular tumble-down, sleepy 
old place, but its hills are everlasting young. To spend 
a night in a farm-house, and rise early and walk along 

one of the many roads leading into B of a spring 

morning, with the birds singing in the trees, the wild 
flowers, like beautiful eyes, peeping out and up at you 
at every step, and the hills in the distance, — those mys- 
terious hills, which the sun seems to clothe in a sort of 
drapery it weaves from the gold of its own beams, — 
and the old muddy river, as mysterious as the hills^ 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 20$ 

winding like a silver sarpent through it, — wall, sar, to 
a reflective man it gives him a foreglimpse of paradise. 

‘‘Wall, sar, I went to B , took the chef oeuvres 

along, thinking to do a little business in the meantime. 
I called at the Sanitarium, told the doctor 1 was not feel- 
ing well, and I would like to take a few weeks’ treat- 
ment, something to tone me up and get me in trim for 
the fall trade. I had not been thar but an hour or two, 
when I observed a very pretty, bright young woman, 
—wall, she might be all the way from twenty to four- 
and-twenty years of age, a sort of an attendant to the 
ladies. Wall, after a few preliminaries by the way, 
some reconnoitering, and a little ‘daffy -down-dillowing’ 
on my part, (the daffodils are a favorite flower of mine) 
at the end of two days. Miss Susie and myself were on 
the best of farms. 

“One evening I sauntered out for a walk, when I 
accidentally came upon Miss Susie, who was out on the 
same errand. The day had been quite warm, and I 
asked Miss Susie to a confectionaries’ to have a dish of 
ice cream, which she readily accepted. After we got 
comfortably seated, she began chatting in a very con- 
fidential manner about the lady patients sojourning at 
the Sanitarium, and I’ll be gurned, before I had any 
time to put any questions to her, if she didn’t mention 
Mrs. Stanhope’s name. 1 asked her if she wouldn’t be 
kind enough to tell me all she knew consarningthat lady. 
She said, she liked her ever so much, and there wasn’t 
a lady thar could hold a candle to her in the way of gen- 
tleness and goodness. She left thar to go back to the 


206 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

city; her attorney had rented a house in the suburbs, and 
when she was settled thar, she was to write to her, as she 
had promised to go to Mrs. Stanhope to attend on her. 

‘'Mrs. Stanhope wished to take her along with her, 
but the gentleman would not listen to it until she had 
first seen how she would like the woman he had parti- 
ally engaged as a housekeeper. She herself had no 
home, and she thought she would like such a position, 
as it would just suit her. But she had never received 
a line from Mrs. Stanhope since she left the Sanitarium. 
She had inquired repeatedly of the doctor concerning 
her, but he always put her off, saying he had heard 
nothing of Mrs. Stanhope since she returned to the city. 

“I asked her if she had ever observed anything out 
of the way or peculiar about MrSc Stanhope. Her an- 
swer was, that she had not ; she was ill and very ner- 
vous, and all run down like ; the baths did not seem to 
agree with her, but the doctor insisted on her taking them . 

“ ‘Now, Miss Susie, M inquired, ‘did you ever hear the 
doctor mention that her mind was in any way affected.?' 

“ ‘No, sar,' she said, ‘it couldn't be; she was as sen- 
sible as 1 am, and so genteel and patient — that is why 1 
should have liked to live with her; she won me complete- 
ly. I could have done anything for her, and I would have 
had a good home with her. 1 can't imagine what could 
have happened, that she didn't write to me as she pro- 
mised. Do you think she's dead, sar.? We surely 
would have heard if she had died.' 

“That was enough. I escorted Miss Susie home. On 
the way 1 told her that I had to leave town in the morn^ 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 207 

ing, and asked if she would honor me with her name 
in full and her address, which I immediately wrote down 
in my note-book, and requested her to keep quiet, and 
not to breathe a word of what had been said between us. I 
have her name here, sar . I ginerally jot down particulars. 

‘‘Wall, sar, in the morning 1 paid the doctor my bill, 
said I had been suddenly called to the city, and when I 
needed a little brushing up again, I would give him a 
call. 1 came down here, and dispatched to you to come 
home immediately. 

“My GodU’ cried Richard, seizing Tom^s hand, a 
great fear taking possession of him. “Supposing the 
shock of finding herself in a mad-house, sick, with no 
friends, no way of claiming the protection of the law, 
no chance of freedom, has driven Mrs. Stanhope hope- 
lessly insane. Oh! My dear Tom, 1 cannot bear to 
think of it! The very idea of it nearly drives me mad! 
But,’’ added Richard, his face pale and set as death, but 
for the eyes that glistened like burnished steel and 
flashed with the white heat of lightning, “if her mind 
is irreparably shattered, — then, — then I will be Eleanor 
Stanhope’s avenger. This villain’s life will pay the pen- 
alty. Either he or I must die.” 

“Keep cool, my dear sar, keep cool. Make a memor- 
andum of the facts in the case, then in the morning 
pay a visit to your attorney, get his advice, and then 
proceed to business. You know where to find me if I am 
wanted. Keep cool, sar, and quiet. To get a good shot 
at the panther, you must meet him with his own 
stealthy steps. Keep cool, sar, and dark.” 


208 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

After Tom Tatum’s departure, Richard went to his 
mother’s room. She was seated in a low easy rocking- 
chair, near a table where a student lamp burned. It 
was a large, spacious room, hung in cool, white drapery, 
and the glow of the lamp, under its porcelain shade, 
threw a mellow dim light, that made weird shadows 
come and go with the soft breeze that blew through the 
half open windows. She was reading in her old hymn- 
book; — she had several favorite hymns that she read 
every night before retiring. When Richard entered, she 
closed her book, laid it on the table, removed her glass- 
es, and beckoned him to a seat beside her. He remained 
with her until far into the night. After he had related 
to her the whole story of his early romance and love 
for Eleanor Montcalm, and the part she herself played 
in it, the death of Eleanor’s grandmother, the murder 
of her husband, and the long illness following, and her 
incarceration in an insane asylum, and the vision which 
led to its discovery ; and how he still cherished for her 
a deep regard and a sincere affection, and that they 
were now her only friends, and how he feared the worst, 

“My son,” said Mrs. Alden, “you should have made 
me your confidant in this years ago. I might have been 
both a friend and mother to Eleanor in her loneliness 
and trouble, and saved her much of this suffering. Now 
what we must do, my son, is to bring Mrs. Stanhope 
home, even should her mind be a little deranged. 1 
think, with kindness and care, and the help of a good 
woman, and a skilled physician, she can be nursed back 
to health.” 


AN INNER LIFE OF OUR OWN. 20g 

‘^Oh, mother/’ cried Richard, taking her hand and 
kissing her on the cheek, ^'you have dispersed the dark 
cloud that hung heavy over me, leaving now but its 
silvery lining. Yon have given me hope. While every- 
thing goes to show that Eleanor was perfectly sane 
when taken to the Asylum, I feared that the shock of 
finding herself in a mad-house might have unbalanced 
her mind anc driven her to insanity.” 

‘‘My son, 'here was One who said, ‘Not a sparrow 
shall fall to the ground without our Heavenly Father 
knowing it.’ Our Heavenly Father saw all this man 
did. He loves His children, and from what you tell me 
of Mrs. Stanhope, she would be brave and strong in 
trouble like this, and the very one to rely on God’s 
promises for help.” 

She stood with her hands resting on the table, the 
tall, spare, dignified form, clad in a long loose robe of 
some light thin fabric, her dainty white lace cap band- 
ing the snowy curls that fell soft against her cheek. 

“Now, my son go to your room. Try and sleep, so 
that you will be better prepared to meet what the morn- 
ing may bring forth.” 

Richard kissed her and left. 

“Then it is true, no matter how dear or close the re- 
lationship, we all have an inner life of our own, separ- 
ate and distinct. I, like many foolish mothers, thought 
Richard had no secrets from me,’’ she said, seating her- 
self in her chair again, where she remained some time 
lost in the past, which the interview with her son recalled. 
14 


210 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XVlll. 

FOR TEDDY’S SAKE. 

When Eleanor entered her room, she closed the door 
and lay down on her bed. For a while she thought 
neither of her past nor her future, but of the present 
and her interview with Jonas Brand. The ordeal had 
been trying to her in the extreme, but she had come 
out victorious, and she wondered at the strange, restful 
calm that had taken possession of her, and the strength, 
almost miraculous, which had been given her. She 
asked herself, Would Mr. Brand accept her offer, and 
release her? If he gave her her freedom on the condi- 
tions she proposed, she would then be penniless. But 
what of that? She was still young, scarcely twenty- 
eight. When once out of the Asylum, she would soon 
gain strength; then, surely, surely, in the great, wide 
world, with its poor, its neglected children, its badly- 
taught schools, its numerous hospitals for the sick, 
where they need nurses with a conscience, more than 
training; and in its many industries, she could find some- 
thing to do. 

‘‘Oh, freedom, health, and usefulness! How sweet 
you are!” she cried in her heart. Never, never would 
she have known their worth if it were not for the calam- 
ity that had befallen her. What riches, what untold 


FOR TEDDY’S SAKE. 


2II 


wealth lay back of these three words, freedom, health, 
and usefulness, to whoever would apply them to the 
benefit of others. Money, that brazen bull, at whose 
shrine the whole world, from the highest to the lowest, 
worships, — that phantom and empty bubble, that men 
hold higher than honor, truth, honesty and virtue, and 
chase and pursue from the cradle to the grave to find, 
and when gained, it melts from their grasp as the snow 
from the hillside on a warm April day. 

She had found that money was a curse, unless it was 
used for good, in giving aid and comfort to the human 
race, and promoting things that go to elevate it. But if 
the love of it caused men to do such dark deeds as Jonas 
Brand committed, the parting with her property would 
be a source of relief instead of pain. But if Mr. Brand 
still kept her a prisoner out of revenge, and used her 
money for his own personal benefit, and to enhance his 
wealth, she would try to banish the past from her 
thoughts and never look to the future. That belonged 
to God. But the present was her own, and whatever 
chance happiness came into the hour and the day, she 
would try to make the most of it. 

She was aroused from these reflections by Melina 
bringing in the tray with her supper. She was lying 
with her back to the door, and Melina, seeing that she 
did not move or change her position, drew the stand up 
to the bedside, set the tray down with a slam, and 
went out muttering to herself : 

rings the bell, and I brings the tea hot and warm; 
she can drink it when it suits; Tm not goin’ to wake her.’^ 


212 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

After Eleanor had partaken of a cup of tea and a piece 
of toast, she rose and seated herself by the window. 
The day was slowly fading, the sun had taken a last 
good-night peep at the world from behind a veil of gold- 
en gossamer, leaving in the west a deep red glow, that 
curtained with flame the windows of the men's quarter, 
which loomed up in the shade, high, dim and grim, iron- 
cased and iron-barred. The leaves of the stunted trees 
in the yard caught the reflected light that danced on 
its many panes, and tossed it to the grass, where it 
mingled with the green, and chased the shadows that 
crept in and out from behind the brick walls, the doors 
and porches, like the dead ghosts of the departed pa- 
tients, drawn back by old associations, to tarry awhile 
with the ghosts that still live on, uncared for, unloved, 
deserted and forgotten. The warm winds played through 
the branches of the lilac bush beneath her window and 
shook its dried leaves, that shimmered like burnished 
bronze in the russet radiance of the dying day. 

Then one by one the living ghosts began to emerge 
from their hiding places, and crowd the walks and bench- 
es; some very old men leaning on their canes, — ghosts 
trembling with the senility of age, with nothing left but 
the ghost of their former selves. Ghosts in the full 
years of their prime, with intellects darkened, either 
from over-work or over-strained nerves, but more often 
from unchecked passions. 

But the most pitiful of all were the young ghosts, just 
on the threshold of manhood, with minds clouded, some 
from over-study, some from this cause and that, but 


FOR TEDDY'S SAKE. 213 

most of them, like those in their prime, from over-in- 
dulgence in vicious habits, that parents and guardians 
either neglected, or did not take the trouble to correct 
in their early boyhood. One tall, slim youth of a ghost 
plays on the flute an aria from 11 Trovatore; its strains 
float out on the still night, higher, higher, and higher, 
then lower, softer, and softer, until they sweetly die 
away with the murmur and swish of the trees. Now 
the dusk recedes into darkness, and one by one they 
seem to dissolve into the shadows that thicken about 
them, and vanish into their prison house, that stands 
like a great black spectre, with arms outstretched to 
absorb them into its ghostly self. 

Then Eleanor turned her eyes to the door. It is open, 
and here in the hall are more ghosts, gliding up and 
down in the dim gas-light; marching, marching, with 
noiseless tread and fluttering garments, as they did on 
the first night she came to the Asylum, and as they had 
done every night since. She can distinguish Mrs. Lin- 
ton's among them. It begins at the lower end of the 
hall, and buoyantly trips, trips, until it reaches half-way, 
then grows fainter and fainter before it arrives at the 
central door, where all hope and courage die with it. 

As Eleanor sat musing thus, a ghost softly entered 
her room, and drew a chair close to hers and seated 
herself at her side. The ghost had just come in from 
the lawn, and the gold of her hair and the fairness of 
her cheek, weer enhanced by her black robe, and the 
long black veil thrown over her head and shoulders. 
Hannah Cameron had been ailing for some days; a week 


214 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

before, when Eleanor spoke to her of looking quite un- 
well, she acknowledged feeling somewhat indisposed; 
she had taken a slight cold, she said, but it would soon 
pass away. She was never, at the best, very robust, 
and her long confinement had told on a naturally deli- 
cate constitution; she generally grew pale and thin in 
the summer months, but she soon picked up again when 
the cool days returned. 

“My dear,” said Hannah, in- a low voice, “I would 
have come sooner, but Melina told me you were rest- 
ing nicely, and I did not wish to disturb you, although 
1 was very anxious to know how your visit with your 
man of business terminated. Have you any good news 
for me? He certainly, after seeing your condition of 
mind, cannot have the conscience to keep you here any 
longer.” 

“My dear Miss Cameron, when Mr. Brand had the 
conscience to place me here, I do not think it will in 
the least disturb his conscience to keep me here,” re- 
plied Eleanor. 

She related to Hannah what had passed between 
them, how she had offered to sign over to him all her 
own personal fortune, and her right of dower in her 
husband’s estate, on condition that he would liberate 
her, allowing her a small sum until she recovered health. 

“Oh! My dear Mrs. Stanhope, how rash!” cried 
Hannah, her voice choking with hoarseness, and her 
whole frame trembling, so that the chair she sat upon 
shook beneath her. “What will become of you?” she 
moaned, clasping Eleanor’s hand. “You are so help. 


FOR TEDDY'S SAKE. 21$ 

less, so delicate; where will you go? What can you do? 
A lady like you cannot go into the world penniless. Oh, 
there must be some other way out of here. It cannot 
be that we are so debased; so lost to all sense of right 
and justice, as to let this villain rob you, extort from 
you your means. There is a God above who sees all. 
He will not allow this sacrifice. Oh! My dear lady, this 
is the hardest thing of all to bear." 

She raised Eleanor's hand to her lips, bent her head 
and groaned. 

‘‘My dear Hannah, you must not look at it in that 
way," replied Eleanor. “If I remain here, my money 
will do me no good. As it is, Mr. Brand has all the 
benefit of it, and in time would have it all in his own 
name. How much better to be free! I am still young, 
and, if I leave here, must after a while regain my heath. 
There is plenty of work in the wodd to do. What 
wealth of money can compare with the riches of free- 
dom and health, and of being useful to others. Oh, 
freedom! Sweet, glorious freedom! I never knew thy 
worth until now. My money has been a curse to me. 
It has been the cause of all my suffering, and 1 almost 
hate its name. To me, its only worth is in the use we 
put it to in making others comfortable and happy. For 
instance, if money would buy your liberty, I would give 
all I possess to restore it to you. When we look at the 
sordid side of it, it is detestable, making monsters of in- 
iquity out of men. Mr. Brand may not release me on 
these terms. I have my doubts about it. He is vindict- 


2i6 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

ive to the care, and my money is virtually his if I never 
get out of here.’’ 

“Oh! My dear Mrs. Stanhope! Surely the good God 
will interpose and find some other way. You cannot, 
must not leave here on these conditions.” 

“Now, dear, let us talk no more about the money. 
There are other things I wish to say to you. Supposing 
I do gain my liberty and go from here after I get well 
and strong, what can I do for you? Oh! My friend! 
My dear Hannah!” and Eleanor raised the hand that 
still clasped hers, to her lips. “A lifetime in your ser- 
vice can never repay you for your kindness and sym- 
pathy, love and devotion, that warmed and kindled 
anew in me the dying life spark, and that faith in you, 
which shone like a luminous ray of light, brightening 
the dark hours of my stay here, and giving me new 
hope. Now let us no longer be strangers, dear. You 
know my history. Is it asking too much from you to 
give me some of your past, so that when I leave here, 
I may be better able to serve you?’' 

“Not at all, my dear,” replied Hannah. “I have been 
thinking for some time of telling you how I came to be 
placed here; and now that I feel, and have felt for many 
days, and cannot shake it oft, that there is a crisis pend- 
ing, which will cause a great change to you and myself, 
it makes me all the more desirous of imparting to you 
what I have never revealed to any other person. The 
Sisters, of course, are fully acquainted with my story 
and how I came to be brought here. Whatever keeps 


FOR teddy's sake. 


217 

me here, or why I am detained here, 1 cannot say; they 
certainly must know, — I can but partially guess. 

“I was an only child, and not more than ten years 
old when my parents came to this country. My father 
was of the strong religious Scotch-Irish temperament, a 
Puritan in every sense, but a Roman Catholic, one of 
the old peasant families that clung to the Mother 
Church. He was a very intelligent man, and took ad- 
vantage of the free schools here to give me an educa- 
tion. When I was about sixteen, he sent me to a con- 
vent, where I remained three years. I was about 
nineteen when I graduated, and my father was delighted 
to have me home again; but in three months after my 
return home he died, leaving mother but a small insur- 
ance on his life. 

‘‘After his death, 1 was given a position to teach in a 
small suburban district school. Here mother rented a 
pretty cottage, a few blocks from the school, and we 
settled down to live. It was a beautiful spot, inhabited 
mostly by the wealthy merchants of C . Our cot- 

tage stood on the cornbr and occupied part of the large 
grounds which surrounded a modern mansion. It was 
originally the old homestead of the couple who lived in 
the mansion, and was rented to mother for a moderate 
sum monthly. They were about in the prime of life; 
their family consisting of an only son, a man-servant, 
and two maid servants. 

“When we first rented the cottage, their son had not 
been long home from college. I was ever conscious of 
not having much personal attraction. My hair was the 


2i8 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

only beauty about me that I could in any way boast of. 
But what Terrins Knox saw in small, quiet, diffident, 
unpretentious me to fancy, used at times to disturb me 
greatly and make me fear myself and distrust him, for 
Terrins was singularly handsome, well-bred, and of 
polished manners, and seemed to be of a happy, jovial 
nature. Yet there was something about him that made 
me feel his college life had not been free from dissipa- 
tion. But this made me all the more anxious, as our 
acquaintance ripened and our love grew, that 1 might 
be the means of turning him from habits that I thought 
had not yet become fixed in one so young, and to lead 
him to a higher and nobler manhood. 

‘‘My mother did not like him, and opposed his atten- 
tions in every w^y. She saw the disparity in our 
positions in life. He was the only son of wealthy par- 
ents; I, a poor teacher, the daughter of a poor widow, 
with no claim to beauty or any particular mental gifts 
or family station, — nothing but my education and my 
respectability. 

“The people at the mansion knew nothing of Terrins' 
visits to the cottage, nor did they ever suspect that his 
fancy led him that way, until after we were married. 
Only this, as I afterwards learned, that they were re- 
joiced to see their son had changed for the better. He 
was much at home, and left off many of his wild orgies, 
which he frequently followed up for weeks. But when 
our marriage became known, to say there was war at 
the mansion, is to put it mildly. Old Mr. Knox turned 
mother and me out of the cottage, and Terrins rented a 


FOR TEDDY'S SAKE. 


219 

small house in the city, where we lived happily for 
about a year. 

‘‘Terrins, who pretended to have taken up the prac- 
tice of law, as he went away every morning regularly 
at nine, began to come home in the evening intoxicated. 
Then, after a while, it was not only drunkenness I had 
to contend with, but he seemed to have every mean- 
ness that a fallen human being can create to satisfy 
vicious appetites. I tried everything in my power to 
reclaim him. 1 kept on teaching, until my baby, my 
sweet boy Teddy, came. I hoped that baby's birth 
would awaken in him some consciousness of his degrad- 
ation, and stir him to some manly purpose. He pro- 
mised to do better, but it was the old, old story. Then 
mother died. She had never been the same after I 
married Terrins; his dissipation and our poverty hast- 
ened her death. 

“After mother was laid away, Terrins left me and 
returned to his parents. I rented one small room, and 
lived with my baby boy on the little money my mother 
bequeathed me. It was the beginning of summer, and 
Teddy was about two years old. I engaged a nurse for 
him, as 1 intended to go back to teach in the fall, when 
school opened, and had already been engaged at a good 
salary, when I was taken very ill. 

“I was just recovering from this illness, when one 
afternoon, — I was sitting in an armchair near the win- 
dow, — the nurse opened the door in response to a little 
soft knock, and there entered a lady. She was about 
fifty years old, of medium height, and very elegantly 


220 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

dressed. Before she had time to introduce herself, \ 
recognized in her my husband's mother, although I had 
never seen her but twice, and then not to speak. She 
made herself very gracious and affable, said she heard 
I was ill, and came to see if she could make amends for 
the past by doing for myself and child all she should 
have done before. She took Teddy on her lap, kissed 
and fondled him, and seemed perfectly delighted with 
him. She said she would send her physician to me, 
that I needed rest and a change of air. She would take 
Teddy and the nurse home with her when she came 
again, and care for him until 1 recovered my strength. 

‘‘She remained nearly two hours, and when she rose 
to take leave of us, she kissed me, and slipped a fifty 
dollar bill into my hand. 

“ ‘It’s just to buy a few little delicacies for yourself 
and Teddy,’ she said. 

“The next morning she sent her coachman with a 
large basket of choice fruit, jellies, broiled chicken and 
fresh eggs. Every day I was supplied with an abund- 
ance of these articles until I left home. 

^‘A few days after Mrs. Knox’s visit, a gentleman, 
purporting to be her physician, called. He recommend- 
ed a change of scene, quiet, rest and fresh air. 

“1 felt myself that these were what I most needed, 
and I would take advantage of the offer for Teddy’s 
sake. I was anxious to regain my health and grow 
strong, so that I would be able to take my place by 
the time school commenced. It was agreed that I 
should go to a distant private sanitarium, kept by a 


FOR TEDDY^'S SAKE. 


221 


noted physician, and situated in a beautiful spot, where 
it was high, dry and cool, where I would have every 
attention that money could procure, and plenty of fresh 
pure milk to drink. The milk was the very thing to 
build me up, the doctor remarked. My mind was per- 
fectly at rest for my dear baby boy’s welfare. The 
separation would be hard to bear, but the thought that 
I would return in a little while, fully restored to health, 
was a joy that overbalanced the pain of parting. Oh, 
my dear Mrs. Stanhope! You have guessed by this 
time where my journey ended.” 

Hannah bowed her head and wept. Eleanor was 
speechless with horror. All she could do was to press 
Hannah’s hand. 

“There is no use going over what I suffered,” con- 
tinued Hannah, wiping the tears from her eyes, “when 
I came to realize where I was, and how I had been 
duped and cheated by my wretched mother-in-law. 
But my boy, my dear baby boy, torn from my arms! 
That was the anguish that wrung my mother heart 
from day to day. 1 knew he would be taken care of, 
that he would neither want for bread or shelter, that 
he would have more than I could give him. But it in 
no way appeased the craving of my heart, the longing 
of my soul for one look again into his dear, dear face. 
Oh, the hunger! The hunger in my breast to press his 
sweet lips once more to mine! 1 prayed and prayed, 
and little by little 1 learned the lesson, that the only 
way to gain peace and consolation was by burying and 
forgetting my own sorrow, and making myself useful 


222 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

to others. I have found plenty to do here, and I know 
God in His own way and His own good time will open 
the door of our prison house. 

“Now, dear, it is not best to dwell on our troubles. 
Suffice it to say, 1 have been here eight years. My 
bills are paid; my clothing furnished; but why I am 
kept here 1 cannot say. I do not think that I shall go 
out by th^ same door that you will. When my shackles 
are loosed, it will be in the spirit, and not in the flesh 
that I leave here. God has His own way of doing 
things. No chains, no iron bars, no prison walls can 
hold the soul when He chooses to call it. The soul is 
His. God gave it, and God taketh it away. 

“But you, dear,’’ and Hannah rose and stood by 
Eleanor’s side, still holding Eleanor’s hand clasped in 
hers. Her face was very pale, and her hair in the dim 
light glistened under her black veil like a golden halo 
crowning her small head. “If you go from here and 
recover your health, if you will, make some inquiries 
about my boy Teddy, let me know what you learn of 
him, and if there can be anything done to restore him 
to me?” 

“My dear Hannah,” said Eleanor, scarcely able to 
speak above a whisper, so appalled was she by what 
she had heard. It had thrown her own case, which 
she thought had no parallel for cruelty and treachery, 
into the shade. “If I gain my liberty and health, be- 
lieve me, I shall leave nothing undone, — no sacrifice 
will be considered too great, — to find your boy and to 
regain you your freedom. Oh! My friend! My dear 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 223 

Hannah! It is useless to say more. Indeed, — indeed, — 
1 cannot say more.'' 

So in this broad, free land, with its blue skies, its 
smiling, twinkling stars, its climates fairer than fair 
Italy, softer than southern France, tempered by breezes 
more refreshing and health-giving than the Lybian 
winds that stir to music the pine-groves of lovely Spain. 
Land of snow-capped mountain peaks, of fertile val- 
leys, where long rivers flow to the sea, of great, wide, 
sweeping prairies, where the silvery mist hangs low, 
kissing the corn and wheat to golden ripeness! Ah, 
land of peace and plenty! Ah, country of the people, 
for the people, and governed by the people, where 
are your boasted laws, your free institutions.? Your 
laws are good enough, but why not put them into 
force? Why not execute them? Freedom does not 
mean license. On the contrary, though fair and chaste 
as the morning sun, she is a stern and austere goddess, 
demanding constant vigilance, for she well knows it is 
the price of liberty in all things, — mind, intellect, body 
and soul as well as government. Stain and smutch 
her garments with corruption, she shrivels and shrinks 
in agony, and draws her mantle over her face with 
shame and sorrow, for it is what forms the links in the 
chain, that will sooner or later bind and fetter and 
bring the people again into bondage. It is the* history 
of nations that have fallen, small as well as great, 
republics as well as monarchies. 

Here in the waning dusk^ the tranquil hushed hour. 


224 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

when nature seems to be saying its evening prayer, 
these two, a type of all that is best, pure, noble, sweet 
and gracious in womanhood, stood looking into each 
other's pale faces. The shadows coming and going, 
the ghosts of the prisoners that had gone out one by 
one from the body in the long past years, crowding up 
around and about them as witnesses of one more scene, 
in the many, many scenes enacted inside the four walls 
of these cells, their ghostly hands keeping the record, for 
the Master said, “There is nothing done in secret, that 
shall not be proclaimed from the housetops." On they 
stood, their white faces set but dumbly asking what 
will be the solution to the drama, which in a sense 
was no fiction, in a sense no fact, but a glaring truth. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 

Jonas Brand laid down the pen, picked up the le- 
gal document he waspreparing, leaned back in his chair, 
held it so close to his face that the tip of his nose 
touched the paper. Then he centered his left eye up- 
on it and read with a devouring eagerness its contents. 

Mr. Brand read all his papers of a legal character with 
the left eye, it being of the irrepressible sort. It bulged 
out larger and larger, as he greedily took in the contents- 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 225 

When he came to the end, not finding it quite to his 
liking, Mr. Brand laid it on his desk, picked up his pen, 
and added a few more strokes to it. 

‘‘There,’' he said, glancing over the paper with his 
irrepressible eye. “Nothing like keeping within the 
law, Jonas. Fifty thousand dollars in hard cash isn’t 
a bad fee. It don't slide into a man’s hand every day. 
Well, Jonas, old boy, when once you closed your grip 
on Eleanor Stanhope’s money, you never intended it 
to escape. By hook or by crook, by fair means or by 
foul, it was either the woman or her money. Well, 
Jonas, it was a little more than you first played for, as 
the diamonds were not then in the count, but you have 
won the game. Now, if you were inclined that way, you 
could say with those religious fellows, ‘The Lord is, 
and has been on your side all through this affair, hey, 
Jonas.?’ ” 

Mr. Brand rolled his left eye, the irrepressible, 
leaned back in his chair and laughed. 

“Mrs. Stanhope,” he went on, “when you put your 
name to this document,” he muttered, with a sly nod 
at the paper, laying his finger on the space left for 
Eleanor’s signature, “you and I, Jonas Brand, attorney 
at law, will be quits. My high-bred, high-toned, sen- 
timental Eleanor, you have found to your cost, that 
Jonas Brand is not to be fooled with, that sentiment is 
not a paying business, that your pride is pretty empty, 
health gone, money gone, and only a remnant of your 
former beauty. Well, my once fair friend, when you 
15 


226 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN ThE LAW. 

make your debut in society again, your entrk will not 
be hailed with much ado, that's certain, my lady, and 
your conquests will be few and far between." 

Mr. Brand smiled, adjusted his glasses, leaned back 
in his chair, and twirled his thumbs. 

Then an ashen pallor overspread his face. He pushed 
the paper from him, rose up, and began to pace the floor. 

‘*Do what 1 will, fight against it as 1 will, I cannot 
banish from my mind or sight how she stood there by 
the window, the light falling upon her, a mere skeleton 
of her old self, her ghost, as it were, risen from the 
grave, to confront me with my cowardice and treach- 
ery. Her beauty not a whit marred by her suffering, 
and her intellect clearer and keener than ever, offering 
to sign over to me, if I would but release her, what 
most men and women barter and sell soul and body for. 
Think of it! Her whole fortune, if 1 would but give her 
the freedom 1 have no right, not even one letter of the 
law, for withholding from her. Jonas, you are a dast- 
ard. There never was much good in you, but this de- 
sire for revenge and money has destroyed the last 
remnant of it. Jonas, don't be a fool, don't weaken. 
She has brought it all on herself; she has played the 
prude all through, when, if she had but listened to my 
love, she could have had everything her own way." 

He hurried his steps faster and faster, as if he would 
beat back and quench out forever the last spark of the 
old love, that sent its sickly flame through the hard, 
callous selfishness of his nature, to heart and brain, and 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 227 

warmed them to some pity and mercy for her. But it 
flickered and died as his eyes rested on the piece of 
paper lying on his desk. He stopped before it, then h^^ 
picked it up, and gazed at it a moment, his face still 
very pale. 

‘‘Ha!^’ he exclaimed, ‘‘Jonas, you havenH battled 
with the world for forty-five years, and not learned that 
money is power, that it buys all and everything, and 
there is no use having any qualms about it. It buys 
comfort and luxuries, the respect of men, honor, the 
love of womenf,and even helps to pave the way to heaven. 
Ha! Jonas, don’t be a fool. Don’t soften. Fifty thou- 
sand dollars in cold cash added to your pile isn’t so bad. 
Hey, Jonas, old boy.^^” 

He adjusted his glasses, laid the paper carefully on 
his desk, and seated himself before it again. 

Then there came a knock at his door, which stood 
ajar, and a gentleman entered. It was nothing unusu- 
al for gentlemen to visit Mr. Brand’s office at that hour 
in the morning, to hold business consultations, as the 
court did not convene until eleven o’clock, and it was 
then drawing up to ten. Nevertheless, this gentleman’s 
appearance caused Mr. Brand’s by-play to flit, and his 
irrepressible eye to stare from behind his glasses as the 
gentleman drew closer, and he got a better view of his 
person. 

He was a perfect stranger to him; his face had not 
even the familiar cast of the men he daily encountered 
on the streets. He had never, to his knowledge, seer) 


228 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

this man before, and a keen observer though he was, 
he was even at a loss what place in life to assign him. 

“Good morning,’’ said the stranger, removing his hat, 

“Good morning,’’ returned Mr. Brand, without rising 
from his seat. “Take a chair,” and he beckoned him 
to one beside him. 

“I believe this is Mr. J. Brand, attorney and admin- 
istrator of Howard Stanhope’s estate,” said the stranger, 
seating himself. 

Jonas gave a start, but answered with assumed in- 
difference, and a little of his old by-play. 

“I am supposed to be that individual. I am my father’s 
son, and his name was Jonas Brand. It is the only in- 
heritance he bequeathed me, as the old man didn’t leave 
me even a cent to apologize for its ugliness.” 

Mr. Brand turned to his desk, and began fumbling 
among his papers. 

“Mr. Brand, I have called this morning,” began the 
stranger, tossing back the straggling hair from his brow, 
and taking a graceful poise, “ to pay a debt due some 
time to Howard Stanhope, by myself and mother.” 

Mr. Brand’s fears being for the moment relieved, and 
having a shrewd, practical sense of things*, he raised his 
head, and took a long, furtive look at the stranger, while 
he mused playfully, “Where did you come from? You 
are the only man I ever met, who voluntarily offered to 
pay a debt due a dead man. You must be a new spe- 
cies.” Then he turned and asked, “Your name, if you 
please?” 

“Richard Alden,” answered Dick, directing his glance 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 229 

straight upon Jonas, who quickly evaded it by dipping 
his head behind a pile of papers that lay on his desk. 

that young architect fellow that the people have 
lately been talking so much about, he muttered to 
himself. Then wheeling around in his chair, he said, 
‘‘Mr. Alden, Howard Stanhope must have forgotten to 
to charge you with this debt, as your name does not 
appear in his books as his debtor.’' 

“The debt 1 speak of, sir, is not a monetary one, nor 
of any business transaction with Howard Stanhope, but 
a debt of duty of almost criminal neglect in the time of 
need and trouble, to his sick widow, Eleanor Stanhope." 

At the mention of Eleanor’s name, from the lips of 
this man, the blood went seething to Jonas’ brain, and 
all the hate, vindictiveness and revenge which his last 
interview with Eleanor incited in him, and the triumph 
he had achieved, and which would in a few hours be 
complete when she signed the deed that would make 
him the possessor of all her fortune, returned and swept 
through his mind, and for a moment clouded his vision. 

He had told himself that she was alone, that once out 
of sight, the world is not apt to trouble itself long about 
anyone, and a few plausible answers given to the queries 
it might possibly make, would quiet any apprehensions 
it would have concerning her. Besides, there is no time 
when a woman takes so much value in a man’s estima- 
tion, as when some other man evinces an interest in her. 
The husband whose indifference and neglect the wife 
has for years patiently borne, will, when another man 
appears on the scene, immediately revive all the old at- 


230 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

tractions that he laid aside with his wedding garments 
and the honey-moon. The lover, whose passion is on 
the wane, at the sight of a new suitor, will become. fired 
with a jealous ardor, and give his fair lady no peace, un- 
til the day is set for the consummation of their happiness. 

Jonas, as he looked at Richard, tall and straight like 
the mountain pine, and graceful as its wind-swept branch- 
es, the fine head, with its dusky shock of hair, the clear- 
cut Vandyke features, lighted by gray luminous eyes, 
whence the soul and intellect flashed like stars, radi- 
ating the violet heavens of the night. 

As he measured the disparity between them, both 
physically, intellectually, and in purity of character, all 
the old love for Eleanor leaped up anew in him, and 
seemed to consume him with a jealous hate of the man 
who sat before him. This love, in its early life like a 
flower, springing up among the rank weeds of his baser 
passions, only to be choked and smothered by them, — 
this love, that had been the one virtue in him, might 
have led him to higher things and to make better use of 
the gifts that were his, if it were not for the sordid sen- 
sual nature that was stronger in him, and which he did 
not care to combat. But he regained his composure with 

the thought, ‘‘What does this fellow know about ? 

Jonas, don’t be a fool. All you have done has been 
within the law.” 

“We knew of Mrs. Stanhope’s illness,” continued 
Richard, coolly, and not appearing to observe Mr. Brand’s 
uneasiness, “but for some time supposed she had re- 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 231 

covered and was restingquietly in the country, and that 
she would soon return to us. After a while she began 
to be missed, and word went about that she had disap- 
peared, no one knew where. Then a rumor came that 

she ’’ Richard hesitated, shook the straggling hair 

from his brow, and with a flash in his eyes that forced 
Mr. Brand to take refuge behind the paper fortress on 
his desk, continued, ‘‘that she, Eleanor Stanhope, was 
locked in an insane asylum.’’ 

Jonas Brand had much of the cat in him from princi- 
ple; he generally crawled before he leaped, if he ever 
did leap at anything. 

“It was a sad and distressing thing,” he replied, still 
keeping his eyes bent on his desk, “no one could be 
more shocked and pained, than I myself, when her phy- 
sician informed me of her mental condition. It’s a great 
and terrible calamity, sir, to fall upon one still young in 
years, so womanly and beautiful in person, and lovely 
in character. Believe me, sir, 1 have never been the 
same since the day I was forced to confine her in the 
asylum.” And Jonas took out his white cambric hand- 
kerchief, and wiped his eyes. “1 have known Mrs. 
Stanhope for years,” he went on, his voice subdued to 
tears, “and had she been my own sister, had she been 
nearer, 1 will say my own wife, I could not have grieved 
more, and still grieve for her loss.” 

At this revelation, Richard was for a moment stunned, 
but his deep insight and penetration told him, that Mr. 
Brand was feigning all he said. Besides, he meant not 


2^2 JONAS BI^AND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

to sleep again, until he should see and know for him- 
self Eleanor’s mental state. 

‘‘Sir,” replied Richard, “if you felt, and still feel so 
badly concerning Mrs. Stanhope’s condition, it is strange 
you did not realize more the injury you were doing her 
by consigning her, ill as she was. to a mad-house, — that 
you made no attempt to find her friends, and consult 
with them what was best to do. Although Mrs. Stan- 
hope had no relatives, you should have known that a 
lady occupying the place she did in the social world, had 
friends who would be anxious about her, and only too 
glad to serve her in trouble. Mr. Brand, when you in- 
carcerated Eleanor Stanhope in an insane asylum, you 
usurped a right that was not yours.” 

“Sir,” returned Jonas, gruffly and defiantly, his fears 
for the moment somewhat allayed, as Richard’s charges 
against him as yet put forth no proof of guilt, “I took 
no right but that which the law gave me. A lawyer 
isn’t a damned fool, and he has something else to do 
with his time besides looking up his clients’ friends.” 

The blood rusned to his face, turning it a bluish pur- 
ple. He coughed, twirled his thumbs and added, as he 
gazed at the paper before him, and assumed some of 
his old unctuousness, “1 usurped no right, sir, but the 
right of an old friend, and of her business manager and 
attorney. 1 was sent for by her own physician. When 
1 arrived at the Sanitarium, he Informed me that he 
had given Mrs. Stanhope’s case careful study, that she 
was fast losing her mentality, and he could not keep 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 233 

her in his house. He advised me to place her in St. 
Ursula's, where she could have the best of care and 
medical treatment in that line, and gave me a certifi- 
cate to the effect that, while she was not violent, her 
mind was in a feeble state, and would soon be gone. I 
could do " 

‘‘That is enough," said Richard, sternly, rising to 
his feet, and taking from the inside pocket of his coat 
a paper. ^./‘Mr. Brand, I have here," he continued, in 
the same cool, quiet way he had sustained all through 
their interview, “I have here a little memorandum of 
facts, with which 1 wish to jog your memory. On the 
twenty-third of April you went to B for the pur- 

pose of conveying Mrs. Stanhope back to the city, to a 
house in the suburbs, which you and she had previous- 
ly talked and planned about, and which she desired 
you to rent and furnish for her benefit, she having am- 
ple means to supply her with a housekeeper and atten- 
dants, as she thought by having her own home and 
servants, it would be conducive to bringing about her 
former state of health. 

“Under the Impression that you had carried out her 
wishes to the letter, and that all was in readiness to 

receive her, she left Dr. D 's Sanitarium with you. 

When you arrived here, you had a carriage waiting at 
the depot, in charge of one John Lanaham. He had or- 
ders, as soon as you and the lady you escorted stepped 
into it, to drive immediately to St. Ursula's Institution 
for the Insane. 


234 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

‘‘One Susan Dorsey, a nurse at Dr. D ’s Sani- 

tarium, was a constant attendant on Mrs. Stanhope. 
Her statement is that she had never heard Mrs. Stan- 
hope’s sanity questioned, that she had never even heard 

Dr. D hint at such a thing as her mind failing; — it 

was never thought of, let alone broached by the doc- 
tor, or among the patients, who met her every day; — 
that, on the contrary, her mentality was remarkable 
for its balance and lucidity. And she, Susan Dorsey, 
had been engaged by Mrs. Stanhope as a maid and 
companion, and was prepared to accompany her on her 
journey, but you not agreeing to it, Mrs. Stanhope was 
to write her afcer her arrival in the city, and she was 
to follow on after, but Mrs. Stanhope has since been 
singularly silent.” 

At the mention of Susan Dorsey, the blood again 
went seething to Jonas’ brain, and seemed to lodge in 
his eyes and nose, and choke him as he tried to rise 
and reach out his hand for something that lay on his 
desk. 

“Now Mr. Brand,” Richard read on, without observ- 
ing Mr. Brand’s distress, “I have Susan Dorsey and 
John Lanaham here; also two other gentlemen, and a 
carriage waiting outside to carry you to St. Ursula’s, 
where you will turn over to my mother’s care Eleanor 
Stanhope in person. These gentlemen will detain you 
until we see what course the law will take.” 

Richard stepped to the door and signalled two gentle- 
men standing in the upper end of the hall. When he 


BEFORE A HIGHER TRIBUNAL. 235 

turned back and came closer to Mr. Brand, he gave a 
start, and with a pale, haggard face drew back. 

There, with his eyes staring almost from his head, 
and riveted on the paper he had that morning drawn 
up, and which was to convey to him for his own exclu- 
sive personal use all Eleanor’s fortune, — there, stiff 
and stark, with distorted features, on which rested the 
ashen nue of death, — sat Jonas Brand, dead, stricken 
with apoplexy. 

Oh, Jonas! Jonas! Where now is your by-play, 
that you so often turned to by way of soothing your 
conscience? Where is the gold that you loved, and 
bartered all that is best, higiiest and noblest, to attain? 
Where are the future years of happiness that might 
have been yours? The love of wife and children, 
and their smiling innocent faces growing up around 
you, as you went down into the gloaming? That 
peaceful time of a well-spent life, which leaves behind 
its bright hues, like the colors of a sunset, which lin- 
gers long in the horizon, after the curtain of night has 
fallen? 

But Jonas makes no reply. He is called to answer 
before that Great Tribunal, presided over by a Judge 
who will demand of him the fulfilment of every jot 
and tittle of the law he pretended so much to live 
within, but which he had violated at every step. 


236 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XX. 

AT last! at last! oh, MY LOVE! 

It was late in the afternoon when Sister Beatrice en- 
tered Eleanor's room. Eleanor was lying on the bed. 
She had rested but little the night before, and was try- 
ing to catch a few winks of sleep, that seemed to elude 
her and mock her with as much persistency, as if she 
had put forth her hand, and tried to hold it in her 
grasp. 

‘‘You must rise and prepare yourself for a great sur- 
prise," said Sister Beatrice, whose face was as white 
as her coronet, and wore an expression that Eleanor 
had never seen^t show before. The eyes lifted the 
veil of their long silken lashes, and shone upon her 
with a secret exultation in them. A gladness, almost 
amounting to a joy, played upon her features, leaving 
for the moment no trace of their habitual weariness, as 
she stooped over Eleanor, and added, softly, “There 
are visitors in the parlor to see you. You must prepare 
yourself for an overwhelming surprise." 

“Mr. Brand?" inquired Eleanor, trembling, as she 
rose, and leaned against the side of the bed for support. 

“No, dear, not this time. Shall I roll up those braids, 
and fasten them with this rubber hair-pin? What 
beautiful heavy hair! Now you look better. Let me 
run the comb through those curls on your forehead." 


AT last! at last! oh, my love! 237 

“Dear me! What has come over Sister Beatrice?'' 
thought Eleanor. “It is the first time I ever knew her 
to show the least interest in me." 

“Now, which gown do you want, the white or the 
black?" 

“The black, if you please." 

“There! This dress is quite becoming to you. You 
should always wear rich clothes. Now, this white 
shawl over your shoulders. Leaving your room, it is 
better to guard against cold and draughts. Now steel 
your nerves. You can do it. You have been brave 
and patient in trials and sorrow. See now whether you 
can bear the glad tidings that await you." 

On her way to the parlor, Eleanor could think of 
nothing, as she steadied herself with a hand leaning on 
Sister Beatrice's shoulder, but that Mr. Brand had re- 
lented, that some remorse of conscience had softened 
his heart, staid his vindictiveness and greed; and not 
caring to come himself, he had sent some one to re- 
lease her. 

“Oh! No! No! She knew no man could be so utter- 
ly base as to demand all she had in the world as the 
price of her freedom.'' 

Thus the good always plead for the bad; thus the 
high nature will ever shed some of its light over the 
groveling nature, and perhaps it is best so. 

As Sister Beatrice with Eleanor leaning on her arm, 
entered the parlor, there arose from a chair where she 
sat near a window, a tall, stately lady. She was over 
sixty years of age, and her deep black robes vied with 


233 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW, 

the snowy tresses that banded her brow, and hung in 
short ringlets of silver on each cheek, heightening the 
calm, peaceful beauty of her countenance. As she 
stepped forward to meet Eleanor, she held out both 
arms and said in a voice, low and tender, and filled 
with emotion: 

‘‘Eleanor, dear, my daughter, I have come to take 
you home.’’ 

Eleanor tottered back. She had heard that voice 
before. She knew it well, — Oh, how well! How often 
had she heard it in her dreams, her sleep, and her 
waking moments! Its sweet accents had thrilled her 
heart as no others ever did; they had played upon 
chords that never vibrated to any touch but his. Now 
they were the divine spark that kindled anew the 
ebbing life in her, and set to flame a great joy in her 
bosom. She knew that face. Its lineaments were his. 
He must have inherited all this woman’s graces and 
beauty, as well as virtues. Oh, she would know him 
in her, and her in him. Eleanor’s figure, spent and 
worn, nothing seemingly left of the body but the shad- 
ow of its former self, shook as with a chill, and reeled 
and swayed to and fro like a storm-bent, and tempest- 
tossed poplar. She gasped out, as Mrs. Alden placed 
her arms about her: “Oh, mother, mother! take me 
home!” Then her head fell forward on Mrs. Alden’s 
shoulder. 

Two strong arms lifted her up and bore her to a sofa. 
They held her close, and Richard Alden’s head bent 
and kissed her, and kissed her again, — kissed her brow. 


AT last! at last! OH, MY LOVE! 239 

her sunken cheeks, the drawn lips, — for a strong pity- 
ing love for her filled his heart to overflowing. She 
was Eleanor, the beautiful Eleanor he had met and 
loved, that summer long ago in the Ozark Mountains; 
— that love he had beaten back, wrenched from his 
heart, because stern duty demanded it. Since then it 
had nestled and slept, disputing its right there with all 
other women. And now it had come forth, newly 
born, full, powerful, and unchecked. She opened her 
eyes, and found, looking into hers, eyes whose light, 
she felt, was, and ever would be, the light of all her 
after days and years. 

‘^Eleanor, my love! Oh, my poor Eleanor!^^ cried 
Richard, pressing her close to his breast. ‘‘Forgive me! 
I humbly beg your forgiveness, and now since I have seen 
your dear face again, and I am convinced that all is right 
with you, — if I can make any amends for all this cruel- 
ty and suffering, if all I have on earth, a great love and 
the devotion of a lifetime will bring any sunlight and 
happiness into your future, it shall be all yours. Live, 
Eleanor, for my sake! Oh, my poor Eleanor! My love! 
My wife!’’ 

She felt a deep and supreme happiness, such as she 
had never known before, and a touch of the peace that 
Christ the Lord speaks of, “that peace which passeth 
all understanding,” came over her, and for a moment 
she rested in his embrace, the sweet baby rest of child- 
hood. Then she nestled closer to his breast and cried: 

“At last! At last! Oh, my love! My beloved Dick! 
Even to die in thy arms is Heaven reached!” 


240 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE VISION OF ROSES. 

As the evening was fast closing, and there awaited a 
carriage outside to carry them to Dove Wing, Eleanor 
returned to the hall to prepare for the ride, and bid 
adieu to the friends she was leaving behind in captivity. 
She found Sister Beatrice standing at the parlor door. 
The bell for the Sisters’ tea had just then rung. Sister 
Beatrice escorted her to the door of St. Mary’s hall, un- 
locked it, and told her to wait in her room for her re- 
turn, and that Mrs. Linton or Miss Cameron would 
assist her in dressing for her ride. 

As she neared her room, and was passing with the 
aid of the wall for support in search of Hannah Camer- 
on, to break to her the glad news, she came upon Mrs. 
Milford, seated on a long wooden bench, and strapped 
to its back by strong leather straps, which girded her 
waist, and fastened at the back with a padlock. From 
these straps were two other straps fastened and buck- 
led to the thick oaken rungs of the bench, leaving her 
barely enough room to move or turn. Her figure, that 
a few months before was large and robust, had wasted 
to a skeleton. Her hair was snow white, and had 
thinned, until there were but a few strands where the 
full braids had coiled thick on the top of her head. 
Her cheeks were sunken, and there were great purple 


THE VISION OF ROSES. 


241 

shadows under the protruding eyes, that rolled vacant- 
ly in her head as she rocked herself to and fro, repeat- 
ing to herself in a half-audible sing-song whisper, ‘‘What 
have I done? What have I done, to be locked in here, 
and strapped to this bench like a dog?^' 

“Oh,. dear Mrs. Milford!’’ said Eleanor, stopping be- 
fore her and smoothing back her hair, and patting her 
on the cheek, “Try and be patient, and all will come 
right. Calm yourself, dear. Try and collect your 
thoughts and center them on God. Forget yourself, 
and peace will follow. Be brave and patient. Oh, 
dear Mrs. Milford, learn as I have learned, to rest in 
God. He will in His own good time unclasp these buck- 
les, break these locks, and let your shackles fall. The 
things that are impossible with man are possible with 
God.” 

She paid no heed to Eleanor’s words. She did not 
even seem to know her. Her eyes stared at her in dull 
vacancy, and she kept up her sing-song, rocking her- 
self to and fro, “What have I done? What have 1 done, 
to be locked up here away from my children, and 
strapped to this bench like a dog?” 

Never, never, as often as Eleanor had read them, did 
the words of the Scriptures, “Thou shalt not call thy 
brother a fool ; he that calleth his brother a fool deserves 
hell-fire,” come to her in their full meaning, in their 
awful significance, as they did when she looked down 
at this poor woman. Man should not tamper with the 
mind. It is God’s, of God, and part of Him. It is in- 
16 


242 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

comprehensible, inconceivable. No man can grasp it, 
or stay it in its flight. It is always soaring, always 
reaching up, up, and never satisfied until it rests in the 
bosom of God, whence it came. 

Therefore, let no man dare to tamper with God’s 
work. Let him not beat too hard on this delicate fiber, 
this beautiful, subtle, spiritual instrument, nor strain 
its innumerable threads, fine as air, and light as sun- 
beams. Had they nursed this poor woman’s mind with 
the same tender care they would have given the sick 
body, — had they soothed and led it, little by little, to 
to pleasant scenes and interesting themes, and gradu- 
ally brushed aside the cobwebs that had become tangled 
among its keys (1 suppose the scientists would term 
them brain cells), letting in the light of the intellect, 
and restoring it to its former fashion, as it came from 
the hand of God, — there would have remained a perfect 
body, an immortal soul, its intelligence lighted and glo- 
rified with His Spirit. But no. Man says, “You must 
come under my will. My will is law here. We choose 
rather to bear down and press hard on this poor instru- 
ment of yours. We will beat, beat continually upon it, 
until it is docile and obedient. We will strain its capaci- 
ty to the utmost tension, until its strings snap asunder, 
and it shall fall shattered and broken, leaving nothing 
but the driveling, idiotic spectacle we see before us.” 
Ha! Man, you have conquered. You are satisfied with 
your work. Can you recall that intellect and intelli- 
gence again? Never, never, never! ^^Thou shalt not 
call thy brother a fool; he that calleth his brother a fooi^ 


THE VISION OF ROSES. 243 

deserves hell-fire.’^ He that maketh a fool of his bro- 
ther deserves worse than hell-fire, — eternal damnation. 

‘Toor, poor woman!"’ thought Eleanor, as she turned 
away with a sad heart, and tears in her eyes, ‘‘She 
tried to fight her way to freedom, singly and alone. A 
fly might as well have charged a battery of artillery, 
as for her to have tried to combat the forces brought 
against her.” 

Eleanor was groping her way to the sitting-room, 
— every hall in the Asylum had its own sitting-room and 
its own dining-room. When she neared the door, Mrs. 
Linton came tripping up to her, her face very pale, and 
her eyes seeming to flash with hot flame, as she said, 
in a sort of breathless astonishment: 

“Oh! Dear Mrs. Stanhope, is what I hear true, that 
you have gotten your ticket of leave, and that it is not 
Mr. Brand, the monster, who is taking you out? I 
knew he would never take you out. The people who 
provide this home for their dear ones, never intend 
them to leave it, if they can help it. They don’t turn 
the lock on us to open it again. Well, dear, I am so 
sorry to part with you, but I am thoroughly glad you 
are going, for your own sake. You would never have 
gotten strong here.” 

“Oh! My dear Mrs. Linton,’’ said Eleanor, placing 
her arms around Mrs. Linton’s neck, and whispering 
in her ear, “when 1 grow strong and well, I will leave 
nothing undone that you desire me to do, to help you 
gain your liberty. Keep up your heart and courage.” 

“My dear Mrs. Stanhope, I am somewhat like a bar- 


244 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

ometer, inclined to fall at the least indication of clouds, 
but how many times a day you have set me to fair 
weather by your cheering words, I can never forget, 
and she pressed Eleanor to her heart, and kissed her. 

‘‘I am looking for Miss Cameron. Did you see her 
anywhere about?’’ 

‘‘Perhaps she is in the sitting-room with Mrs. Ger- 
aldus, although it is her hour for going to the chapel,” 
answered Mrs. Linton. 

Mrs. Geraldus, who a week before had sprained her 
ankie and had been removed to the sitting-room, where 
those dreadful telephones were not so apt to disturb 
her, was reclining on a sofa that stood near the win- 
dow. A long thin white robe fell, limp and clinging 
about her form to the floor, revealing the sinuous grace 
of her limbs; over this she wore a loose pink silk dress- 
ing sack, somewhat soiled and worn. The sack was 
trimmed in white point lace, as soiled and worn as the 
silk, for it hung in festoons of rips and threads. One 
dainty, fairy foot patted the floor; the lame one rested 
on a stool, the small, heelless slipper lying beside it, — 
the big toe with its pink nail, glistening like a tortoise- 
shell, peeping out from a hole in the embroidered 
stocking. 

“Who is this?” she exclaimed, laying her head back, 
and lifting her lorgnette to her eyes, as Eleanor came 
up, leaning on Mrs. Linton’s arm. “If it were not for 
the substantial presence of Mrs. Linton, I would have 
thought it your ghost, come to take leave of me, before 
departing for the land of spirits, the home of freedom. 


THE VISION OF ROSES. 


245 

But how is this? What has brought you here at this 
late hour? I am both surprised and amazed at seeing 
you. You must be getting better.^' 

‘‘My dear Mrs. Geraldus/' replied Eleanor, seating 
herself in a low rocking-chair that Mrs. Linton drew 
close to the sofa on which Mrs. Geraldus reclined, “I 
am going to leave you. I have come to bid you good- 
bye. There are friends waiting in the parlor to take 
me home with them to-night.’’ 

“What!” she cried, with a pale face, as she turned 
up her pretty, piquant chin, and took a limp attitude, 
“Has that wretch of an agent given in that you are not 
out of your mind, or rather that you are in your mind, 
— that you are clothed in your right senses, and is going 
to release you now after the summer has passed, and 
he has played on the strings of your nerves, and strain- 
ed and wrenched them with as little mercy as the 
storm winds wrench and break the boughs of the 
trees?” 

“My dear, it is not my attorney who is taking me 
from here, but kind and dear friends who love me,” 
said Eleanor, sadly. “Mr. Brand has not put in an 
appearance. I do not understand it myself. There 
has been no time for an explanation, but I shall learn 
all after a while. I will come again when I grow 
stronger, dear, and it I can be of any use, — if I can 
aid and help you to return to your home, I will do all 
in my power to accomplish it.” 

“Heigh-ho! Home, sweet home!” she sighed, draw- 
ing up her dainty little foot under her skirts, and lay- 


246 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN ThE LAW. 

ing her arm across the back of the sofa. ‘‘But we will 
miss you very much, — 1 most of all. I shall have no 
one to call upon, to spend a pleasant hour with. It 
was bad enough before you came; but when you are 
gone, it will be harder than ever to endure. But par- 
don me. It is bad taste to show feeling. We should 
weep with those that weep, and smile with those that 
smile. I would not for the world throw a shadow over 
this happy and joyful moment, — happy and joyful to 
you, and none the less to me because it is yours. But 
one is apt to fall into some of those little vulgarities, 
dear. The place and the surroundings have a tenden- 
cy to develop them, and they do rub off, you know.’' 
She laughed, tossed her head, rested her glasses on the 
ridge of her expressive nose, gave one or two twists to 
her long drapery, and sighed: “Home, sweet home! 
Dear home! I shall never see you again!" 

“I must leave you," said Eleanor, as her heart 
wrung with pity for this dear creature. “I have to 
see Miss Cameron, and they are waiting for me." 

And Eleanor bent over and kissed her farewell. 

There in the gathering dusk, with the dim light of 
the window accentuating her petite figure, — her hair, 
crowning the classic head with a halo of white fleece, 
that seemed woven from sunlit clouds, — she was all 
that was graceful, quaint, fantastic, and picturesque, — 
all that was dainty, refined and harmonious, combined 
with all that was delicate and womanly. And as she 
sat there, in the gray waning evening, she was the 


THE VISION OF ROSES. 247 

one bright spot, the one dash of color, in all that 
dreary room, of somber gloom and wretchedness. 

Eleanor, with Mrs. Linton’s help, crept to her room, 
where she stopped to tie a white nubia about her head. 
When she reached the large door. Sister Beatrice not 
being there, Melina came up with the key. It made 
Eleanor turn faint to see the look of cringing deceit, 
mixed with spite that Melina gave her. 

‘‘Oh! Mrs. Stanhope,” she said, puckering up her 
thin lips into a round hole, as if she were going to 
whistle a tune by way of a send-off to Eleanor, “1 am 
glad ye ’re better, an’ yer guardeen is taking yer out. 
Now don’t be coming back to us agin in a few weeks, 
as so many of them insane does.” 

“Never mind me, Melina. 1 am all right. You try 
and do your duty and be good to the patients, to God’s 
afflicted. It is the one request 1 have to make of you 
before I go. Good-bye, Melina.’' 

Eleanor kissed Mrs. Linton again, and proceeded on 
her way up Central Hall to the chapel to find Hannah 
Cameron. 

When she opened the door of the chapel, she saw 
her small black-robed figure kneeling in front of the 
altar, with her rosary in her hands. It had grown quite 
dark outside, and the red and white lamps burning on 
the altar, filled the interior with a soft and holy radi- 
ance. Eleanor crept in as far as the first pew, which 
was but a few paces from the door, and stood a mo- 
ment, thinking possibly that Hannah might hear her 
step and turn her face, and she would beckon her to 


248 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

come to her; but Hannah was lost in prayer, and heard 
nothing. 

Eleanor, on perceiving this, made a move to reach 
her, but somenow her feet seemed as heavy as lead, 
and she could move her body neither backward nor for- 
ward. Then a strange sense of drowsiness stole over 
her. She seemed like one in a sleep, and felt herself 
slipping down into the pew, and her head falling for- 
ward on her bosom. Then the kneeling figure at the 
altar changed to the beautiful radiant being of hei 
dream, the night she first met Hannah at the Asylum. 
Her black robe had changed to a dazzling white; the 
beads she held in her hands became a wreath of white 
roses, gemmed with dew, that glistened and scintillat- 
ed like diamonds. And as she lisped her prayers, with 
every motion of her lips, there fell from her mouth a 
full blown white rose, and a pink of the most delicate 
shade and hue; and as they dropped, invisible fingers 
twined them into a wreath, with which they crowned 
her head, and pinned sprays in the tresses that hung 
about her shoulders like a veil woven from the gold of 
sunbeams. They made garlands and girdled her waist, 
and looped up her drapery; then twined them about 
the altar-posts, the candle-sticks and the tabernacle, 
and crowned the Virgin’s statue, and hung the ceilings 
and walls with festoons, and strewed the steps and 
floor of the sanctuary, and their rare and delicious odor 
perfumed the whole place. 

She heard and felt the faint flutter and whirl of many 
wings above her head, and their cool breath on her 


THE VISION OF ROSES. 


249 

cheek; and the light touch of lutes and harp strings, 
and voices sweeter than any music imaginable seemed 
to come from a great distance, chanting anthems. And 
angels gathered and circled about the kneeling figure, 
and as they lifted her up, she turned her face to Elea- 
nor, and smiled. And her smile almost blinded Eleanor, 
for Hannah’s countenance shone with the celestial 
light of the glory of God. 

Then Eleanor was awakened by a touch on her arm, 
and Sister Beatrice called to her to rise, that her friends 
were wondering at her long delay; and she was led 
back to the parlor. Eleanor, still confused with her 
vision, suffered herself to be borne away by strong 
arms to the carriage in waiting outside. Then Richard 
helped his mother to a seat, and they were driven 
home to Dove Wing. 

Half an hour later, when the Sisters went into the 
chapel to pray, they found Hannah lying on the altar 
steps, with her head resting on her arm, dead. Her 
spirit had passed out with Eleanor, unseen, unheard, 
but not unfelt. 

That night, Teddy, for the first time in his remem- 
brance, dreamed that he saw his mother, that she came 
as a beautiful angel, and stooped over and kissed him, 
then vanished from the room. 


250 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW, 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE NEW DOVE WING. 

Six springs have come and gone since Eleanor^s re- 
lease from the Asylum. Glyn Place and its inhabitants 
still rejoice in rural exclusiveness. So on this fair June 
evening, it is radiant in its early summer robes of gold, 
delicate greens, gray blues, with white feathery float- 
ing gossamers, tinged with a creamy yellow light. Pale 
pinks drape the fences, where the red honeysuckles 
interlace arms with the hedge rows, and climb here 
and there and everywhere, in vinous grace. The young 
birds twitter in the trees, that sigh and sough in the 
sweet perfumed winds, and turn their leaves to be 
kissed by the serene-lit evening sky. 

But the crowning beauty and pride of Glyn Place is 
Dove Wing, not the Dove Wing of former days, but 
one with turrets and towers, gabled roofs, porches, and 
oriel and dormer windows, all built so as to form and 
blend into a dove's wing. It was an original thought 
of the architect, — a poem in brick and stone ; and as 
the tall oaks, elms and sycamores throw their shadows 
upon it, and the sun its slanting beams, blending it to 
a symphony of Pompeian reds, and browns, and brown 
yellows, and yellow reds, and golden lights, it certain- 
ly was a poem in architecture. 


THE NEW DOVE WING. 2$ I 

The interior is no less a work of art than the exteri- 
or. Every room is a museum of treasures, rare paint- 
ings, etchings, and old engravings and statues brought 
from every clime, and more especially from the native 
land of the master of the house. Art never went in 
shabby robe where Richard Alden could help it ; — that 
is, if there could be such a thing as Art in a shabby 
dress. Art is so allied to Nature as to be inseparable, 
and Nature has untold riches, so we can never think 
of Art going shabby. 

Richard Alden was one of those men who go to show 
what happiness and good can be gotten out of a mod- 
est income; and he proved that the merely rich man, 
with his millions, is not the benefactor of mankind that 
some would have him, for he by some process is for- 
ever grinding it out of the many poor, and ever making 
their burdens heavier to carry. Richard was not a rich 
man, yet no plan or scheme of his was ever wrought 
out from purely selfish motives. It was always how 
he could best benefit and help his brother man, and at 
the same time give himself a fair percentage on his in- 
vestments. He never built two houses where there 
should be but one; he never built three where there 
should be but two. The poor man occupied his city 
flat of three or four rooms en’*oyed God’s sunlight and 
air, and convenience, with a touch of beauty, a rental 
to suit his purse, and he blessed Richard’s name. The 
man with a good salary found his small six-room houses 
gems of light and air, with such beauty and picturesque- 
ness, combined with utility, that he never hoped to 


252 JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

enjoy, and he and his family also blessed Richard’s 
name. 

About four months after Eleanor’s release from the 
asylum, she had improved so rapidly in health under 
the care of his mother, a good nurse, and their family 
physician, that she and Richard were quietly married. 
Then he took that year’s rest that he had so long pro- 
mised himself. A few days after the ceremony, they 
left home for New York, and from there sailed for 
Europe. 

Mr. Brand had so confused the estate of Howard 
Stanhope that there could be little or nothing gotten 
out of it for his widow. The notes and securities of 
her own personal estate which she placed in his hands 
before her illness, and which bore her signature, were 
found upon his desk. He had taken them from his 
safe, intending to change them after she had signed 
the paper drawn up the morning of his death, in which 
she was to convey to him for his own personal use, all 
right and title in them. These notes Eleanor recover- 
ed, and her husband invested the money in her own 
name, with some he had given her. A years’ sojourn 
abroad, fed, nourished and cherished by the unceasing 
attention and tender love of her devoted husband, 
brought back to Eleanor much of her old vigor; and 
the memory of the asylum, and its suffering, (though 
hot its lessons) grew fainter and fainter each day, until 
it seemed merely the dark shadow of a dreadful dream, 
that she hoped in time to forget, and life never, never 
before was to her so worth living. 


THE NEW DOVE WING. 


253 

A year after their return from Europe, old Mrs.|[Alden 
was called to her heavenly home. Eleanor mourned 
her loss with the deep, heart-felt sorrow of a daughter. 
She returned her motherly affection, and the kind soli- 
citude she had shown for her health and welfare, with 
love and reverence. It was Richard^s first great grief; 
he had all the filial love of a strong man for a gentle, 
womanly and gifted mother. 

Eleanor, from the first, claimed Teddy as her own. 
Although in his boy fashion, he admired her beauty and 
gentleness, he was shy and diffident with her. She 
had to do a good deal of coaxing and petting for a few 
weeks until he learned all by himself, intuitively, in 
what relation she stood to his Uncle Dick, and that she 
would soon become his aunt. After which, being by 
nature brave and gallant, he was never tired of show- 
ing her little attentions. He was so graceful and nim- 
ble that he never seemed in the way or obtrusive; yet, 
when not at school, or busy with his studies, he would 
loiter about her chair, or sit on a low stool at her feet, 
while she told him the story of his mother. How much 
she loved him, and how she never ceased to mourn for 
him; how she was wronged and cruelly betrayed to 
prison and kept there by his father^s parents. How 
beautiful she was; in person and character, more of a 
living saint, than any woman she had ever known or 
read of in history; how she had saved her life, and that 
she had begged her to try and find her boy, if she ever 
came to be released from the asylum. He never tired 
of hearing her repeat the story of the beautiful vision 


254 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

she saw the night of his mother’s death, in the chapel, 
and her spirit must have passed away at that time. 
And if ever Teddy loved his grandmother and Uncle 
Dick, he soon learned to regard Eleanor with a love 
and reverence amounting almost to adoration. 

About three years after Eleanor’s marriage, one 
evening about dusk, there came a hasty ring at the door 
of Dove Wing, and the servant admitted Tom Tatum 
and a strange gentleman. Richard had just come home 
a few minutes before, and dinner was waiting to be 
served in the dining-room. Tom announced to the 
servant that he had business of importance with Mr. 
Alden, and would he please tell him to come down 
immediately. 

“Wall, sar, the old saying, that ‘All is well that ends 
well,’ and that ‘Chickens come home to roost, and 
men come home to die,’ is a good one. So, sar, get 
yourself and the boy ready in as quick time as you 
can. There is a gentleman dying at the Drover’s Inn 

at E who wishes to see yourself and the young 

Prince Frederick.'’ 

“You don’t mean to tell me, Tom,” exclaimed 
Richard, with a pale face, “that Teddy’s father has 
been found!” 

“Yes, sar. I received a dispatch from Ogden about 

noon, to come immediately to E , whar I proceeded 

as fast as the one o’clock train could carry me. When 
I informed him that he was jist the man wanted, he 
rose up in the bed, his eyes flashing and asked for 
what, — that he had never hurt any man but himself. 


THE NEW DOVE WING. 


255 

[held out my hand, ‘Brother,’ I whispered, ‘you are 
light thar, and it is a pity to have hurt yourself so 
badly. You are young yet, and with your opportuni- 
ties, — Lord, sar! How happy you could have been!” 
1 put my hand to his shoulder and gently laid his head 
back on the pillow and whispered a name in his ear. 
‘Wanted,’ I said, ‘by your son, Teddy.’ Wall, sar, 
poor fellow! He kissed my hand and begged me to 
tell him if his son were still alive, — if so, to send for 
him and for a lawyer. So 1 dispatched for Mr. Hason, 
here, to come and take down all he had to say, in case 
we should not get there and back to Ogden’s Inn, 
before he took passage to the other side of the dark 
river.” 

When they arrived at the Drover’s Inn, they were 
ushered into a small, bare room, where, lying on a low 
bed, was a man, still young in years. There were 
traces of his former beauty in the skeleton that dis- 
ease and dissipation had left. A shock of fair hair 
straggled over his pale brow, and the light mustache, 
that curled and drooped over his mouth, lent a grace 
to his pallid sunken cheeks. When he caught sight of 
Teddy, his brown eyes, shaded by the film of death, 
glared and gleamed with a wild sort of joy; and he 
threw up his hand and waved it in front of him, as if 
to fight death’s spectre away. 

‘‘Kiss me, my son,” he said, trying to rise. ‘‘I do 
not deserve any love, or respect, or recognition from 
you. But on my word of honor, I never meant to 
desert you, I must have been drugged and kept in a 


256 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

drugged state for some days, for when I came to rt^y- 

self, Simmons, the d d rascal, could give me no 

information or clue to your whereabouts. Besides, I 
had been carried a thousand miles away from where I 
lost you. 1 went to sleep that night with one thousand 
dollars in my pocket, — when I awoke, I had but fifty 
dollars. Kiss me, my son, dear. I don't deserve that 
your pure lips should touch mine. — But, my son, kiss 
your father. — And I swear to you, my boy, I had no 
hand in getting rid of your mother. Gentlemen, when 
the old folks died, 1 was left sole master of one hun- 
dred and fifty thousand dollars; and fifty thousand dol- 
lars of this I turned over to the executors of my father's 
wil land the admlnistrator,to be kept in trust for my son, 
Terrins Knox, until he was of age. With one hundred 
thousand dollars at my disposal, and my Teddy here, 
I started out with the best intentions, to seek my wife 
and to try to repair some of the wrongs I had done her. 
I supposed she had hidden herself away of her own 
free will and was living somewhere in great poverty. 
I meant to have settled half of the one hundred thou- 
sand dollars on my wife, for her own personal use, to 
hold and to do with as she might see fit; but 1 could find 
no trace of her. Then the love of wine, of cards and 
dice, and bad companions, and habits over which 1 had 
no control, did the rest. They tell me now that she is 
dead, and that my mother did her a great injury, and 
may God forgive her! And 1 swear to all in the room 
here that I never knew the truth of my wife's disap- 
pearance. My mother told me that it was my wife's 


THE NEW DOVE WiNG. 


257 

wish that I should take the boy, and her desire to sever 
all ties and connection with me. And now, dear wife, 
as I hope for pardon from God, pray forgive me!’’ 

All this was said in broken syllables, scarcely above 
a whisper, and gasps for breath with every sentence. 
He tried to raise himself upon his elbow, and looked 
with wild, beseeching eyes towards Teddy, who stood 
by the side of the bed with tears in his eyes. The boy 
at first seemed afraid, and clung to his Uncle Dick; but 
after awhile, when he recovered from the first shock 
of seeing his father, and began to realize that this man 
really was his own father, he stepped towards the sick 
man, and flung his arms about his neck, kissed him, 
and laid his cheek against his, and kissed him again, 
and thus his father passed away. 

Then Teddy turned to his Uncle Dick, and laid his 
head on his shoulder. 

‘‘Now,” he said with a big sob, “that he is no more, 
you will be really and truly, my dear father.” 

“My son, God bless you,” answered Dick, laying 
his hand on the boy’s head, and drawing him closer to 
his heart. 

There, in that back room, with its dingy walls, black 
from the smoke of many winters, its bare unscrubbed 
floor, its one window, looking into a dirty back yard, 
the same deal table, and one gas jet, nine years before, 
young Terrins Knox, the husband of Hannah Cam- 
eron, with three companions, had rioted all night in a 
drunken carouse, and was taken away just before 
17 


258 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

dawn, in the early morning, drugged, and placed on a 
fast train going north. And now after all these years, 
he had come back, weary, footsore and penniless, hop- 
ing to find some trace of his lost son and wife. Master 
of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars at scarcely 
twenty-six years, the hoarded gain of his hard, flinty 
and unscrupulous father, old Terrins Knox, this mon- 
ey, — which was the old man’s God, that never dried a 
tear, or fed a hungry mouth, or sheltered for one night 
the homeless, who never in all his grasping life found 
comfort in the words of Him who said cup of cold 
water given in my name, shall not go unrewarded,” — 
his son wasted and flung broadcast among^ profligates, 
dissolute and wanton women; and with as little thought 
and care as he would have brushed the dust from his 
fine satin cloth pants, or trampled the mud of the street 
under his polished boots. 

But who are these we- have left sitting all this time 
on one of the porches of Dove Wing, that faces the 
west, and overlooks the hill with its ash trees, oaks 
and maples, sloping down to the roadside, forming a 
picture of sweet content? 

Richard is seated on a high cane chair, with his feet 
resting on the balustrade, drowsily smoking a cigar 
and puffing from his lips, long curling threads, which 
he weaves into dreams. But in all his dreams of riches, 
happiness and fame, there has been no dream come 
true, that has given him the foretaste of heaven, like 


THE NEW DOVE WING. 


259 

the dream of the beautiful woman seated at his side, in 
her white robes, caught at the waist with a silver gir- 
dle, and the comb of pearls clasping the lustrous braids 
of dark hair. 

There is little left of the Eleanor that he met that 
summer, long ago, in the Ozark Hills. But there is a 
maturity, that gives to her a grace and dignity, mingled 
with a certain sweet sadness, that Richard thinks, 
rather adds to, than takes from, the charm that was 
always hers. 

She is an indefatigable worker in the cause of the 
poor, neglected insane, trying to better the laws in 
their behalf, and making them stricter for those who 
are at the head of these institutions. And above all 
else, her aim has been to remedy the vicious careless- 
ness of the law that leaves it so easy for the physician, 
and those so inclined, to incarcerate the sane. When- 
ever she hears of a trial for insanity, in court, no matter 
in what part of the country, she is there; and does not 
hesitate, after a careful watching of the case, to give 
her views and experiences to the judge. She has 
saved many a one from a worse than criminaPs cell, — 
from a fate worse than a living death. And in all this 
she has the co-operation of her husband. 

She has done all in her power to free Mrs. Linton 
and Mrs. Geraldus; but so far, her efforts have availed 
nothing. But this she does know, that while human- 
ity may show mercy and pity, there is little, if 
any, justice in its breast; and that there is no greater 
fallacy than the ideas entertained by many in regard 


26 o JONAS BRAND ; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

to insanity and the insane. The mind is as apt to 
grow sick as the body, and needs more gentle, sooth- 
ing care, to bring it back to health; and half of the 
theories propounded by physicians, in regard to the 
mind and brain, are incorrect. The words spoken by 
the learned scientist, the physician of St. Ursula's, 
that day at the Asylum, when Eleanor came to from a 
long swoon, ‘‘Sister, watch her! She needs watching!" 
are written on her heart, as though he had pricked 
them there with the point of one of his sharp surgical 
instruments, and used its own blood to burn in the 
letters. 

But Eleanor's thoughts are far from these old and 
sorrowful scenes, as she turns her great dark eyes, full 
of the light of love, to the face of the fair boy standing 
by her chair, proffering her a bunch of violets, and 
white spring beauties, gathered fresh from the hillside 
at the back of Dove Wing. One can scarcely believe 
that this tall slender boy, quick as a cat, graceful as a 
fawn, yet strong as a young mountain deer, can be the 
little stray waif, whom eleven years before, Richard 
picked up from the roadside, and carried home to his 
mother. 

“So to-morrow you leave us for college," said Elea- 
nor, taking the flowers from his hand, and holding 
them up to inhale their perfume, “And after college, 
what then, dear?" 

And there shone in Eleanor's face a pride radiant 
with mingled love and joy, as she looked at the fair 
boy and wondered, if the dead could come back, how 


THE NEW DOVE WING. 261 

happy Hannah Cameron would be, to see her son, in 
this handsome promising youth. 

‘‘But what a thought,’' said Eleanor to herself. “As 
if 1 could think that his mother did not see him, and 
perhaps is at this moment here with us.” 

But Eleanor sighs, stroking Chute’s glossy coat, as 
he stretches himself at her feet, and blinks and winks, 
and purrs, in great content; for Chute is a privileged 
character, and, since his old mistress died, has grown 
quite fat and lazy, and almost as large as a lamb. 

“I am going to be an artist, or follow Uncle Dick’s 
calling, — it is the next thing to a painter, and a noble 
profession,” answered Teddy, glancing from Eleanor 
to Dick with his shy, bright smile. 

“And if you model, your life and manhood upon your 
Uncle Dick, it will be one of honor, integrity, nobility 
of purpose, and achievements; and from these all good 
and happiness spring.” 

And who is this coming up the walk, with his gray 
felt hat, its broad brim turned up in the back, and the 
crown dented in here and there, and sitting carelessly 
on the side of his head, the ends of his magenta-colored 
neckscarf fluttering in the soft breeze, as he whistles 
the air of some old ballad but Tom Tatum? Putting 
his words in his own quaint setting, “Since the Earl 
and Countess Alden, and Prince Frederick, condescend 
to give the book-agent a corner under the Dove’s pro-’ 
tecting wing, the book-agent, who never refuses a good 
thing, generally accepts.” 

And here is another gentleman following close upon 


262 JONAS BRAND; OR, LIVING WITHIN THE LAW. 

Tom Tatum, and Jack Hilder, looking not a whit less 
picturesque than Tom, doffs his hat to the mistress of 
Dove Wing and smiles. Jack comes often to have a 
quiet smoke with Dick; and when Tom is present, de- 
lights in listening to his droll, well spun yarns; and 
while Tom is a connoisseur in such matters, he thinks 
Jack Hilder no mean reconteur. Jack Hilder still enjoys 
bachelor freedom, never having met that rich widow; 
therefore he has had to forego the pleasure of taking 
care of her fortune. 

Eleanor rises, leaving Teddy leaning on the back of 
his Uncle Dick’s chair, for the three gentlemen are 
deep in the smoke of their cigars, and some political 
incident Hilder is relating, which holds no interest for 
her. She walks down to the eastern end of the porch. 
The heavens are radiant. The moon, that lacks but a 
small portion of its full, bright disk, hangs in the midst 
of long, milky waves, tingeing their crusted edges of 
feathery foam with faint turquoise blues, golden opals 
and violets. Beneath it in the southeast. Mars glist- 
ens like a resplendent jewel, mingling his pinkish rays 
with the argent glory of the moon, which throws slen- 
der silvery shafts among the deep shadows of the elms 
and oaks, where the fire-flies and June bugs hold fairy 
revel, and dance to the flash and sparkle of their own 
lamps. The sweet breaths of the summer winds fan 
her cheek with perfumes, and stir softly the trees, which 
whisper many thoughts to her in their low, hushed 
murmurings. 


THE NEW DOVE WING. 


263 

Of late, she has felt some of the old pity for the 
man who had so wronged her and thrown such a 
blight upon her life that even in her happiest moments 
the memory of the suffering he caused her steals upon 
her like a dark shadow that is ever hovering near. 
She has long ago forgiven him, as she herself hopes 
for pardon; and, as she gazes about her on the fair 
loveliness of the June night, making of earth a para- 
dise, she murmurs, ‘Hf he had have been given some 
warning! But a few moments! Given but time to say 
like the Publican, ‘Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.’ 

“But the God who has placed within the grasp of 
His children so many of earth’s treasures, so much of 
its gladness, joy and peace, and so much beauty, must 
have in reserve for them a wealth of infinite love.” 

And to His boundless mercy she petitions for the 
pardon him who had so wronged her. 

The End. 


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